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White</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The fire in the flint</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Walter F. White</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 25, 2023 [eBook #69877]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Neal Caren. This file was derived from images generously made available by the University of Michigan through the HathiTrust.</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRE IN THE FLINT ***</div> - -<figure> -<img src="images/fitf_crop.jpg" alt="“Book Cover”" /> -</figure> -<h1> -<span class="title">THE FIRE IN<br> THE FLINT</span> -</h1> -<div class="author"> -WALTER F. WHITE -</div> -<div class="publisher"> -<p>NEW YORK</p> -<p>ALFRED • A • KNOPF</p> -<p>MCMXXIV</p> -</div> -<div class="copyright"> -<p>COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. • PUBLISHED, SEPTEMBER, -1924 • SET UP, ELECTROTYPED, PRINTED AND BOUND BY THE VAILBALLOU PRESS, -INC., BINGHAMTON N. Y. • PAPER FURNISHED BY W. F. ETHERINGTON & CO., -NEW YORK. •</p> -</div> -<div class="manufacturer"> -<p>MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> -</div> -<div class="dedication"> -<p>TO<br> MY WIFE</p> -</div> -<div class="epigraph"> -“The fire in the flint never shows until it is struck.” -<p class="alignright"> -—<i>Old English Proverb.</i> -</p> -</div> -<div class="titleagain"> -<p>THE FIRE IN<br>THE FLINT</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_11" class="pagenum">[11]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER I -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">K</span><span class="smallcaps">enneth -Harper</span> gazed slowly around his office. A smile of satisfaction -wreathed his face, reflecting his inward contentment. He felt like a -runner who sees ahead of him the coveted goal towards which he has been -straining through many gruelling miles. Kenneth was tired but he gave no -thought to his weariness. Two weeks of hard work, countless annoyances, -seemingly infinite delays—all were now forgotten in the warm glow which -pervaded his being. He, Kenneth B. Harper, M.D., was now ready to -receive the stream of patients he felt sure was coming.</p> -<p>He walked around the room and fingered with almost loving tenderness -the newly installed apparatus. He adjusted and readjusted the -examining-table of shining nickel and white enamel which had arrived -that morning from New York. He arranged again the black leather pads and -cushions. With his handkerchief he wiped imaginary spots of dust from -the plate glass door and shelves of the instrument case, though his -sister Mamie had polished them but half an hour before until they shone -with crystal clearness. Instrument after instrument he fondled with the -air of a connoisseur examining a rare bit of porcelain. He fingered -critically their various <span id="Page_12" class="pagenum">[12]</span> -parts to see if all were in perfect condition. He tore a stamp from an -old letter and placed it under the lens of the expensive microscope -adjusting and readjusting until every feature of the stamp stood out -clearly even to the most infinite detail. He raised and lowered half a -dozen times or more the lid of the nickelled sterilizer. He set at -various angles the white screen which surrounded the examining-table, -viewed it each time from different corners of the room, and rearranged -it until it was set just right. He ran his hand over the card index -files in his small desk. He looked at the clean white cards with the -tabs on them—the cards which, though innocent now of writing, he hoped -and expected would soon be filled with the names of innumerable sick -people he was treating.</p> -<p>His eye caught what he thought was a pucker in the -grey-and-blue-chequered linoleum which covered the floor. He went over -and moved the sectional bookcase containing his volumes on obstetrics, -on gynæcology, on <i>materia medica</i>, on the diseases he knew he -would treat as a general practitioner of medicine in so small a place as -Central City. No, that wasn’t a pucker—it was only the light from the -window striking it at that angle.</p> -<p>“Dr. Kenneth B. Harper, Physician and Surgeon.” He spelled out the -letters which were painted on the upper panes of the two windows facing -on State Street. It thrilled him that eight years of hard work had ended -and he now was at the point in his life towards which he had longingly -looked all those years. <span id="Page_13" class="pagenum">[13]</span> -Casting his eyes again around the office, he went into the adjoining -reception room.</p> -<p>Kenneth threw himself in utter exhaustion into one of the comfortable -arm-chairs there. His hands, long-fingered, tapering to slender points, -the hands of a pianist, an artist, whether of brush or chisel or -scalpel, hung over the sides in languid fashion. He was without coat or -vest. His shirt-sleeves were rolled back above his elbows, revealing -strongly muscled dark brown arms. His face was of the same richly -coloured brown. His mouth was sensitively shaped with evenly matched -strong white teeth. The eyes too were brown, usually sober and serious, -but flashing into a broad and friendly smile when there was occasion for -it. Brushed straight back from the broad forehead was a mass of wavy -hair, brown also but of a deeper shade, almost black. The chin was well -shaped.</p> -<p>As he lounged in the chair and looked around the reception room, he -appeared to be of medium height, rather well-proportioned, almost -stocky. Three years of baseball and football, and nearly two years of -army life with all its hardships, had thickened up the once rather -slender figure and had given to the face a more mature appearance, -different from the youthful, almost callow look he had worn when his -diploma had been handed him at the end of his college course.</p> -<p>The reception room was as pleasing to him as he sat there as had been -the private office. There were three or four more chairs like the one in -which he <span id="Page_14" class="pagenum">[14]</span> sat. There was a -couch to match. The wall-paper was a subdued tan, serving as an -excellent background for four brightly coloured reproductions of good -pictures. Their brightness was matched by a vase of deep blue that stood -on the table. Beside the vase were two rows of magazines placed there -for perusal by his patients as they waited admittance to the more -austere room beyond. It was comfortable. It was in good taste—almost too -good taste, Kenneth thought, for a place like Central City in a section -like the southernmost part of Georgia. Some of the country folks and -even those in town would probably say it was too plain—didn’t have -enough colour about it. Oh, well, that wouldn’t matter, Kenneth thought. -They wouldn’t have to live there. Most of them would hardly notice it, -if they paid any attention at all to relatively minor and unimportant -things like colour schemes.</p> -<p>Kenneth felt that he had good reason to feel content with the present -outlook. He lighted a cigarette and settled himself more comfortably in -the deep chair and let his mind wander over the long trail he had -covered. He thought of the eight happy years he had spent at Atlanta -University—four of high school and four of college. He remembered -gratefully the hours of companionship with those men and women who had -left comfortable homes and friends in the North to give their lives to -the education of coloured boys and girls in Georgia. They were so -human—so sincere—so genuinely anxious to help. It wasn’t easy for them -to do it, either, for <span id="Page_15" class="pagenum">[15]</span> it -meant ostracism and all its attendant unpleasantnesses to teach coloured -children in Georgia anything other than industrial courses. And they -were so different from the white folks he knew in Central City. Here he -had always been made to feel that because he was a “nigger” he was -predestined to inferiority. But there at Atlanta they had treated him -like a human being. He was glad he had gone to Atlanta University. It -had made him realize that all white folks weren’t bad—that there were -decent ones, after all.</p> -<p>And then medical school in the North! How eagerly he had looked -forward to it! The bustle, the air of alert and eager determination, the -lovely old ivied walls of the buildings where he attended classes. He -laughed softly to himself as he remembered how terribly lonesome he had -been that first day when as an ignorant country boy he found himself -really at a Northern school. That had been a hard night to get through. -Everybody had seemed so intent on doing something that was interesting, -going so rapidly towards the places where those interesting things were -to take place, greeting old friends and acquaintances affectionately and -with all the boisterous bonhomie that only youth, and college youth at -that, seem to be able to master. It had been a bitter pill for him to -swallow that he alone of all that seething, noisy, tremendous mass of -students, was alone—without friend or acquaintance—the one lonely figure -of the thousands around him.</p> -<p>That hadn’t lasted long though. Good old Bill <span -class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> Van Vleet! That’s what -having family and money and prestige behind you did for a fellow! It was -a mighty welcome thing when old Bill came to him there as he sat -dejectedly that second morning on the campus and roused him out of his -gloom. And then the four years when Bill had been his closest friend. He -had been one wonderful free soul that knew no line of caste or race.</p> -<p>His friendship with Van Vleet seemed to Kenneth now almost like the -memory of a pleasant dream on awaking. Even then it had often seemed but -a fleeting, evanescent experience a wholly temporary arrangement that -was intended to last only through the four years of medical school. -Those times when Bill had invited him to spend Christmas holidays at his -home they had been hard invitations to get out of. Bill had been sincere -enough, no doubt of that. But Bill’s father—his mother—their -friends—would they—old Pennsylvania Dutch family that they were would -they be as glad to welcome a Negro into their home? He had always been -afraid to take the chance of finding that they wouldn’t. Decent enough -had they been when Bill introduced him to them on one of their visits to -Philadelphia. But—and this was a big “but”—there was a real difference -between being nice to a coloured friend of Bill’s at school and treating -that same fellow decently in their own home. Kenneth was conscious of a -vague feeling even now that he had not treated them fairly in judging -them by the white people of Central City. Yet, white folks were white -folks—and that’s that! Hadn’t his <span id="Page_17" -class="pagenum">[17]</span> father always told him that the best way to -get along with white people was to stay away from them and let them -alone as much as possible?</p> -<p>Through his mind passed memories of the many conversations he had had -with his father on that subject. Especially that talk together before he -had gone away to medical school. He didn’t know then it was the last -time he would see his father alive. He had had no way of knowing that -his father, always so rugged, so buoyantly healthy, so uncomplaining, -would die of appendicitis while he, Kenneth, was in France. If he had -only been at home!</p> -<p>He’d have known it wasn’t a case of plain cramps, as that old fossil, -Dr. Bennett, had called it. What was the exact way in which his father -had put his philosophy of life in the South during that last talk they -had had together? It had run like this: Any Negro can get along without -trouble in the South if he only attends to his own business. It was -unfortunate, mighty unpleasant and uncomfortable at times, that coloured -people, no matter what their standing, had to ride in Jim Crow cars, -couldn’t vote, couldn’t use the public libraries and all those other -things. Lynching, too, was bad. But only bad Negroes ever got lynched. -And, after all, those things weren’t all of life. Booker Washington was -right. And the others who were always howling about rights were wrong. -Get a trade or a profession. Get a home. Get some property. Get a bank -account. Do something! Be somebody! And then, when enough Negroes had -reached that stage, the ballot and all the <span id="Page_18" -class="pagenum">[18]</span> other things now denied them would come. -White folks then would see that the Negro was deserving of those rights -and privileges and would freely, gladly give them to him without his -asking for them. That was the way he felt. When Bill Van Vleet had urged -him to go with him to dinners or the theatre, he had had always some -excuse that Bill had to accept whether he had believed it or not. Good -Old Bill! They never knew during those more or less happy days what was -in store for them both.</p> -<p>Neither of them had known that the German Army was going to sweep -down through Belgium. Nor did they know that Bill was fated to end his -short but brilliant career as an aviator in a blazing, spectacular -descent behind the German lines, the lucky shot of a German -anti-aircraft gun.</p> -<p>Graduation. The diploma which gave him the right to call himself -“Dr. Kenneth B. Harper.” And then that stormy, yet advantageous year in -New York at Bellevue. Hadn’t they raised sand at his, a Negro’s -presumption in seeking that interneship at Bellevue! He’d almost lost -out. No Negro interne had ever been there before. If it hadn’t been for -Dr. Cox, to whom he had had a letter of introduction from his old -professor of pathology at school, he never would have got the chance. -But it had been worth it.</p> -<p>Kenneth lighted another cigarette and draped his legs over the arm of -the chair. It wasn’t bad at all to think of the things he had gone -through—now that they were over. Especially the army. Out of Bellevue -<span id="Page_19" class="pagenum">[19]</span> one week when the chance -came to go to the Negro officers’ training-camp at Des Moines. First -lieutenant’s bars in the medical corps. Then the long months of training -and hard work at Camp Upton, relieved by occasional pleasant trips to -New York. Lucky he’d been assigned to the 367th of the 92nd Division. -Good to be near a real town like New York.</p> -<p>That had been some exciting ride across. And then the Meuse, the -Argonne, then Metz. God, but that was a terrible nightmare! Right back -of the lines had he been assigned. Men with arms and legs shot off. Some -torn to pieces by shrapnel. Some burned horribly by mustard gas. The -worse night had been when the Germans made that sudden attack at the -Meuse. For five days they had been fighting and working. That night he -had almost broken down. How he had cursed war! And those who made war. -And the civilization that permitted war—even made it necessary. Never -again for him! Seemed like a horrible dream—a nightmare worse than any -he had ever known as a boy when he’d eaten green apples or too much -mince pie.</p> -<p>That awful experience he had soon relegated to the background of his -mind. Especially when he was spending those blessed six months at the -Sorbonne. That had been another hard job to put over. They didn’t want -any Negroes staying in France. They’d howled and they’d brought up miles -of red tape. But he had ignored the howls and unwound the red tape.</p> -<p><span id="Page_20" class="pagenum">[20]</span> And now, Central City -again. It was good to get back. Four—eight—sixteen years had he spent in -preparation. Now he was all ready to get to work at his profession. For -a time he’d have to do general practising. Had to make money. Then he’d -specialize in surgery—major surgery. Soon’s he got enough money ahead, -he’d build a sanitarium. Make of it as modern a hospital as he could -afford. He’d draw on all of South Georgia for his patients. Nearest one -now is Atlanta. All South Georgia—most of Florida—even from Alabama. Ten -years from now he’d have a place known and patronized by all the -coloured people in the South. Something like the Mayo Brothers up in -Rochester, Minnesota!</p> -<p>“Pretty nifty, eh, Ken?”</p> -<p>Kenneth, aroused suddenly from his retrospection and day-dreams, -jumped at the unexpected voice behind him. It was his younger brother, -Bob. He laughed a little shamefacedly at his having been startled. -Without waiting for a reply, Bob entered the room and sat on the edge of -the table facing Kenneth.</p> -<p>“Yep! Things are shaping up rather nicely. Everything’s here now but -the patients. And those’ll be coming along pretty soon, I believe,” -replied Kenneth confidently. He went on talking enthusiastically of the -castles in the air he had been building when Bob entered the room—of the -hospital he was going to erect—how he planned attending the State -Medical Convention every year to form contracts with other coloured -doctors of Georgia—how he was intending <span id="Page_21" -class="pagenum">[21]</span> to visit during the coming year all the -coloured physicians within a radius of a hundred miles of Central City -to enlist their support. He discussed the question of a name for the -hospital. How would Harper’s Sanitarium sound? Or would the Central City -Infirmary be better? Or the Hospital of South Georgia?</p> -<p>On and on Kenneth rambled, talking half to Bob, half in audible -continuation of his reverie before Bob had entered. But Bob wasn’t -listening to him. On his face was the usual half-moody, -half-discontented expression which Kenneth knew so well. Bob was looking -down the dusty expanse of the road which bore rather poorly the imposing -title of State Street. The house was located at the corner of Lee and -State Streets. It was set back about fifty feet from the streets, and -the yard outside showed the work of one who loved flowers. There was an -expanse of smooth lawn, dotted here and there with flowering beds of -pansies, of nasturtiums. There were several abundantly laden rose-bushes -and two of “cape jessamine” that filled the air with an intoxicating, -almost cloying sweetness.</p> -<p>Though it was a balmy October afternoon, the air languorous and -caressing, Bob shared none of the atmosphere’s lazy contentment. All -this riot of colours and odours served in no manner to remove from his -face the dissatisfied look that covered it. He listened to Kenneth’s -rhapsodies of what he intended accomplishing with what was almost a -grimace of distaste. He was taller than Kenneth, of slighter <span -id="Page_22" class="pagenum">[22]</span> build, but of the same rich -colouring of skin and with the same hair and features.</p> -<p>In spite of these physical resemblances between the two brothers, -there was a more intangible difference which clearly distinguished the -two. Kenneth was more phlegmatic, more of a philosophic turn of mind, -more content with his lot, able to forget himself in his work, and when -that was finished, in his books. Bob, on the other hand, was of a highly -sensitized nature, more analytical of mind, more easily roused to -passion and anger. This tendency had been developed since the death of -his father just before he completed his freshman year at Atlanta. The -death had necessitated his leaving school and returning to Central City -to act as administrator of his father’s estate. His experiences in -accomplishing this task had not been pleasant ones. He had been forced -to deal with the tricksters that infested the town. He had come in -contact with all the chicanery, the petty thievery, the padded accounts, -that only petty minds can devise. The utter impotence he had felt in -having no legal redress as a Negro had embittered him. Joe Harper, their -father, had been exceedingly careful in keeping account of all bills -owed and due him. Yet Bob had been forced to pay a number of bills of -which he could find no record in his father’s neatly kept papers. These -had aggregated somewhere between three and four thousand dollars. -Various white merchants of the town claimed that Joe Harper, his father, -owed them. Bob knew they were lying. Yet he could do nothing. No court -in South Georgia <span id="Page_23" class="pagenum">[23]</span> would -have listened to his side of the story or paid more than perfunctory -attention to him. It was a case of a white man’s word against a Negro’s, -and a verdict against the Negro was sure even before the case was -opened.</p> -<p>Kenneth, on the other hand, had been a favourite of their quiet, -almost taciturn father. Always filled with ambition for his children, -Joe Harper had furnished Kenneth, as liberally as he could afford, the -money necessary for him to get the medical education he wanted. He had -not been a rich man but he had been comfortably fixed financially. -Starting out as a carpenter doing odd jobs around Central City, he had -gradually expanded his activities to the building of small houses and -later to larger homes and business buildings. Most of the two-story -buildings that lined Lee Street in the business section of Central City -had been built by him. White and coloured alike knew that when Joe -Harper took a contract, it would be done right. Aided by a frugal and -economical wife, he had purchased real estate and, though the profits -had been slow and small, had managed with his wife to accumulate during -their thirty-five years of married life between twenty and twenty-five -thousand dollars which he left at his death to his wife and three -children.</p> -<p>Kenneth had been furnished with the best that his father could -afford, while Bob, some ten years younger than his brother, had had to -wait until Kenneth finished school before he could begin his course. Bob -felt no jealousy of his favoured brother, yet <span id="Page_24" -class="pagenum">[24]</span> the experiences that had been his in Central -City while Kenneth was away had tended towards a bitterness which -frequently found expression on his face. He was the natural rebel, -revolt was a part of his creed. Kenneth was the natural pacifist—he -never bothered trouble until trouble bothered him. Even then, if he -could avoid it, he always did. It was not strange, therefore, that he -should have come home believing implicitly that his father was right -when he had said Kenneth could get along without trouble in Central City -as long as he attended to his own business.</p> -<p>Kenneth talked on and on, unfolding the plans he had made for the -extending of the influence of his hospital throughout the South. Bob, -occupied with his own thoughts, heard but little of it. Suddenly he -interrupted Kenneth with a sharply put question.</p> -<p>“Ken, why did you come back to Central City?” he asked. He went on -without waiting for a reply. “If I had had your chances of studying up -North and in France, and living where you don’t have to be A afraid of -getting into trouble with Crackers all the time, I’d rather’ve done -anything else than to come back to this rotten place to live the rest of -my life.”</p> -<p>Kenneth laughed easily, almost as though a five-year-old had asked -some exceedingly foolish question.</p> -<p>“Why did I come back?” he repeated. “That’s easy. I came back because -I can make more money here than anywhere else.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_25" class="pagenum">[25]</span> “But that isn’t the -most important thing in life!” Bob exclaimed.</p> -<p>“Maybe not the most important,” Kenneth laughed, “but a mighty -convenient article to have lying around. I came back here where the bulk -of coloured people live and where they make money off their crops and -where there won’t be much trouble for me to build up a big -practice.”</p> -<p>“That’s an old argument,” retorted Bob. “Nearly a million coloured -people went North during the war and they’re making money there hand -over fist. You could make just as much money, if not more, in a city -like Detroit or Cleveland or New York, and you wouldn’t have to be -always afraid you’ve given offence to some of these damned ignorant -Crackers down here.”</p> -<p>“Oh, I suppose I could’ve made money there. Dr. Cox at Bellevue told -me I ought to stay there in New York and practise in Harlem, but I -wanted to come back home. I can do more good here, both for myself and -for the coloured people, than I could up there.” He paused and then -asserted confidently: “And I don’t think I’ll have any trouble down -here. Papa got along all right here in this town for more than fifty -years, and I reckon I can do it too.”</p> -<p>“But, Ken,” Bob protested, “the way things were when he came along -are a lot different from the way they are now. Just yesterday Old Man -Mygatt down to the bank got mad and told me I was an ‘impudent young -nigger that needed to be taught my place’ because <span id="Page_26" -class="pagenum">[26]</span> I called his hand on a note he claimed papa -owed the bank. He knew I knew he was lying, and that’s what made him so -mad. They’re already saying I’m not a ‘good nigger’ like papa was and -that education has spoiled me into thinking I’m as good as they are. -Good Lord, if I wasn’t any better than these ignorant Crackers in this -town, I’d go out and jump in the river.”</p> -<p>Bob was working himself into a temper. Kenneth interrupted him with a -good-natured smile as he said:</p> -<p>“Bob, you’re getting too pessimistic. You’ve been reading too many of -these coloured newspapers published in New York and Chicago and these -societies that’re always playing up some lynching or other trouble down -here—”</p> -<p>“What if I have? I don’t need to read them to know that things are -much worse to-day than they were a few years back. You haven’t lived -down here for nearly nine years and you don’t know how things are -changed.”</p> -<p>“It’s you who have changed—not conditions so much!” Kenneth answered. -“What if there are mean white folks? There are lots of other white -people who want to see the Negro succeed. Only this morning Dr. Bennett -told mamma he was glad I came back and he’d do what he could to help me. -And there’re lots more like”</p> -<p>“That’s nice of Dr. Bennett,” interjected Bob. “He can afford to talk -big—he’s got the practice of this town sewed up. And, most of all, he’s -a white man. Suppose some of these poor whites get it into <span -id="Page_27" class="pagenum">[27]</span> their heads to make trouble -because you’re getting too prosperous—what then? Dr. Bennett and all the -rest of the good white folks around here can’t help you!”</p> -<p>“Oh, yes, they can,” Kenneth observed with the same confident smile. -“Judge Stevenson and Roy Ewing and Mr. Baird at the Bank of Central City -and a lot others run this town and they aren’t going to let any decent -coloured man be bothered. Why, I’ll have a cinch around this part of -Georgia! There aren’t more than half a dozen coloured doctors in all -this part of the country who’ve had a decent medical education and -training. All they know is ladling out pills and fake panaceas. In a few -years I’ll be able to give up general practising and give all my time to -major surgery. I’ll handle pretty nearly everything in this part of the -State. And then you’ll see I’m right!”</p> -<p>“Have it your own way,” retorted Bob. “But I’m telling you again, you -haven’t been living down here for eight or nine years and you don’t -know. When all these Negroes were going North, some of these same ‘good -white folks’ you’re depending on started talking about ‘putting niggers -in their place’ when they couldn’t get servants and field hands. You’ll -find things a lot different from the way they were when you went up -North to school.”</p> -<p>“What’re you boys fussing about? What’s the trouble?”</p> -<p>Bob and Kenneth turned at the voice from the doorway behind them. It -was their mother. <span id="Page_28" class="pagenum">[28]</span> -“Nothing, mamma, only Bob’s got a fit of the blues to-day.”</p> -<p>Mrs. Harper came in and looked from one to the other of her sons. She -was a buxom, pleasant-faced woman of fifty-odd years, her hair once -brown now flecked with grey. She wiped the perspiration from her -forehead with the corner of her apron, announcing meanwhile that supper -was ready. As he rose, Kenneth continued his explanation of their -conversation.</p> -<p>“Bob’s seeing things like a kid in the dark. He thinks I’ll not be -able to do the things I came back here to accomplish. Thinks the -Crackers won’t let me! I’m going to solve my own problem, do as much -good as I can, make as much money as I can! If every Negro in America -did the same thing, there wouldn’t be any race problem.”</p> -<p>Mrs. Harper took an arm of each of her sons and led them into the -dining-room where their sister Mamie was putting supper on the -table.</p> -<p>“You’re right, Kenneth,” Mrs. Harper remarked as she sat down at the -table. “Your father and I got along here together in Central City -without a bit of trouble for thirty-five years, and I reckon you can do -it too.”</p> -<p>“But, mamma,” Bob protested, “I’ve been telling Ken things are not -what they were when you and papa came along. Why—”</p> -<p>“Let’s forget the race problem for a while,” Kenneth interrupted. -“I’m too hungry and tired to talk about it now.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_29" class="pagenum">[29]</span> “That’s right,” was -Mrs. Harper’s comment. “Draw your chairs up to the table. You’re not -goin’ to have any trouble here in town, Ken, and we’re mighty glad you -came back. Mrs. Amos was in this afternoon and she tells me they’re -having some trouble out near Ashland between the coloured sharecroppers -and their landlords, but that’ll blow overjust as it’s always done.”</p> -<p>“What’s the trouble out there?” asked Kenneth. He wasn’t much -interested, for he could hear Mamie, in the kitchen beyond, singing some -popular air to the accompaniment of chicken-frying.</p> -<p>“It’s a case where coloured farmers claim they can’t get fair -settlements from their landlords for their crops at the end of the -year,” explained his mother.</p> -<p>“Why don’t they hire a lawyer?” Kenneth asked, with little -interest.</p> -<p>“That shows you’ve forgotten all about things in the South,” said Bob -with mingled triumph and despair at his brother’s ignorance. “There -isn’t a white lawyer in Georgia who’d take a case like this. In the -first place, the courts would be against him because his client’s a -Negro, and in the second place, he’d have to buck this combination of -landlords, storekeepers, and bankers who are getting rich robbing -Negroes. If a white lawyer took a case of a Negro share-cropper, he’d -either sell out to the landlord or be scared to death before he ever got -to court. And as for a Negro lawyer,” here Bob laughed sardonically, -“he’d be run out of town by the Ku Klux <span id="Page_30" -class="pagenum">[30]</span> Klan or lynched almost before he took the -case!”</p> -<p>“Oh, I don’t know so much about that!” Kenneth replied. “There are -landlords, without doubt, who rob their tenants, but after all there are -only a few of them. And furthermore,” he declared as Mamie entered the -room with a platter of fried chicken in one hand and a plate of hot -biscuits in the other, “supper looks just a little bit more interesting -to me right now than landlords, tenants, or problems of any kind.”</p> -<p>Mamie divested herself of her apron and sat down to the table. She -was an attractive girl of twenty-two or twenty-three, more slender than -Bob, and about Kenneth’s height. Her hair was darker than that of either -of her brothers, was parted in the middle and brushed down hard on -either side. Though not a pretty girl, she had an air about her as -though she was happy because of the sheer joy of living. She had -graduated from Atlanta University two years before, and with two other -girls had been teaching the seven grades in the little ramshackle -building that served as a coloured school in the town. That hard work -had not as yet begun to tell on her. She seemed filled with buoyant good -health and blessed with a lively good nature. Yet she too was inclined -to spells of depression like Bob’s. She resembled him more nearly than -Kenneth. As has every comely coloured girl in towns of the South like -Central City, she had had many repulsive experiences when she had to -fight with might and main to ward off unwelcome attentions—both of the -men of her <span id="Page_31" class="pagenum">[31]</span> own race and -of white men. Especially had this been true since the death of her -father. Often her face overclouded as she thought of them. She, like -Bob, felt always as though they were living on top of a volcano—and -never knew when it might erupt. …</p> -<p>The four sat at supper. Forgotten were problems other than the -immediate one of Kenneth’s in getting his practice under way. Eagerly -they talked of his plans, his prospects, his ambitions. Bob said nothing -until they began to discuss him and his plans for returning to school -the following fall, now that Kenneth was back to complete the settling -of the small details that remained in connection with Joe Harper’s -estate. …</p> -<p>It was a happy and reasonably prosperous, intelligent family -group—one that can be duplicated many, many times in the South.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_32" class="pagenum">[32]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER II -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">S</span><span -class="smallcaps">ituated</span> in the heart of the farming section of -the State, with its fertile soil, its equable climate, its forests of -pine trees, Central City was one of the flourishing towns of South -Georgia. Its population was between eight and ten thousand, of which -some four thousand were Negroes. The wealth and prosperity of the town -depended not so much on the town itself as it did on the farmers of the -fertile lands surrounding it. To Central City they came on Saturday -afternoons to sell their cotton, their corn, their hogs and cows, and to -buy in turn sugar, cloth, coffee, farming-implements, shoes, and -amusement. It was divided into four nearly equal sections by the -intersection of the tracks of the Central of Georgia Railroad and of the -Georgia, Southern and Florida Railway. Drowsy, indolent during the first -six days of the week, Central City awoke on Saturday morning for “goin’t -town” day with its bustle and excitement and lively trade. Then the -broad dustiness of Lee Street was disturbed by the Fords and muddied -wagons of farmers, white and black. In the wagons were usually -splint-bottom chairs or boards stretched from side to side, occupied by -scrawny, lanky “po’ whites” with a swarm of children to match, clad in -single-piece garments, once <span id="Page_33" -class="pagenum">[33]</span> red in colour and now, through many washings -with lye soap, an indeterminate reddish brown. Or, if the driver was a -Negro, he generally was surrounded by just as many little black -offspring, clad also in greyish or reddish-brown garments, and -scrambling over the farm products being brought to town for sale or -exchange for the simple and few store products needed. And beside him -the usually buxom, ample-bodied wife, clad in her finest and most gaudy -clothing to celebrate the trip to town looked forward to eagerly all the -week.</p> -<p>Crowded were the streets with vehicles and the sidewalks with the -jostling, laughing, loudly talking throng of humans. After the noonday -whistle had blown signalling release to the hordes of whites working in -the cotton mill over beyond the tracks, the crowd was augmented -considerably, the new-comers made up of those who had deserted the -country districts, discouraged by the hard life of farming, by rainy and -unprofitable seasons, by the ravages of the boll weevil and of -landlords, both working dire distress on poor white and black alike. -Discouraged, they had come to “the city” to work at small wages in the -cotton mill.</p> -<p>All the trading done on these days did not take place over the -counters of the stores that lined Lee Street. In the dirty little -alleyways from off the main street, men with furtive eyes but bold ways -dispensed synthetic gin, “real” rye whisky, and more often “white mule,” -as the moonshine corn whisky is called. Bottles were tilted and held to -the mouth <span id="Page_34" class="pagenum">[34]</span> a long time and -later the scene would be enlivened by furious but shortlived fights. -Guns, knives, all sorts of weapons appeared with miraculous speed—the -quarrel was settled, the wounded or killed removed, and the throng -forgot the incident in some new joyous and usually commonplace or sordid -adventure.</p> -<p>When darkness began to approach, the wagons and Fords, loaded with -merchandise for the next week, and with the children clutching sticky -and brightly coloured candies, began to rumble countrywards, and Central -City by nightfall had resumed its sleepy, indolent, and deserted -manner.</p> -<p>From the corner where Oglethorpe Avenue crossed Lee Street and where -stood the monument to the Confederate Dead, the business section -extended up Lee Street for three blocks. Here the street was dignified -with a narrow “park,” some twenty feet in width, which ran the length of -the business thoroughfare. Over beyond the monument lay the section of -Central City where lived the more well-to-do of its white inhabitants. -Georgia Avenue was here the realm of the socially elect. Shaded by elms, -it numbered several more or less pretentious homes of two stories, some -of brick, the majority of frame structure. Here were the homes of Roy -Ewing, president of the local Chamber of Commerce and owner of Ewing’s -General Merchandise Emporium; of George Baird, president of the Bank of -Central City; of Fred Griswold, occupying the same relation to Central -City’s other bank, the Smith County Farmers’ Bank; of <span id="Page_35" -class="pagenum">[35]</span> Ralph Minor, owner and manager of the Bon -Ton Store.</p> -<p>Here too were the wives of these men, busying themselves with their -household duties and the minor social life of the community. In the -morning they attended to the many details of housekeeping; in the -afternoon and early evening they sat on their front porches or visited -neighbours or went for a ride. Placid, uneventful, stupid lives they led -with no other interests than the petty affairs of a small and -unprogressive town.</p> -<p>The young girls of Central City usually in the afternoon dressed in -all their small-town finery and strolled down to Odell’s Drug Store -where the young men congregated. Having consumed a frothy soda or a -gummy, sweetish sundae, they went to the Idle Hour Moving Picture Palace -to worship at the celluloid shrine of a favourite film actor, usually of -the highly romantic type. Then the stroll homewards, always past the -Central City Hotel, a two-storied frame structure located at the corner -of Lee Street and Oglethorpe Avenue opposite the Confederate monument. -In front were arm-chairs, occupied in warm weather, which was nearly all -the year round, by travelling salesmen or other transients. Often a -sidelong glance and a fleeting, would-be-coy smile would cause one of -the chair-occupants to rise as casually as he could feign, yawn and -stretch, and with affected nonchalance stroll down Lee Street in the -wake of the smiling one. …</p> -<p>At the other end of Lee Street from the residential <span -id="Page_36" class="pagenum">[36]</span> section of the well-to-do -whites, past the business section of that main artery of the town, lay -that portion known generally as “Darktown.” Fringing it were several -better-than-the-average homes, neat, well painted, comfortable-looking, -fronted with smooth lawns and tidy, colourful flower-beds. It was one of -these at the corner of Lee and State Streets that the Harpers owned and -occupied.</p> -<p>After crossing State Street, an abrupt descent was taken by Lee -Street. Here lived in squalor and filth and abject poverty the poorer -class of Negroes. The streets were winding, unpaved lanes, veritable -seas and rivers of sticky, gummy, discouraging mud in rainy weather, -into which the wheels of vehicles sank to their hubs if the drivers of -those conveyances were indiscreet enough to drive through them. In -summer these eddying wallows of muck and filth and mud dry up and are -transformed into swirling storms of germ-laden dust when a vagrant wind -sweeps over them or a vehicle drives through them, choking the throats -of unlucky passers-by, and, to the despair of the dusky housewives, -flying through open windows. The houses that bordered these roads were -for the most part of three and four rooms, the exteriors unpainted or -whitewashed, the interiors gloomy and smelly. But few of them had -sanitary arrangements, and at the end of the little patch of ground that -was back of each of them, in which a few discouraged vegetables strove -to push their heads above the ground, there stood another unpainted -structure, small, known as “the privy.” In front there was <span -id="Page_37" class="pagenum">[37]</span> nearly always some attempt at -flower-cultivation, the tiny beds bordered with bottles, shells, and -bits of brightly coloured glass. The ugliness of the houses in many -instances was hidden in summer-time by vines and rambler roses that -covered the porches and sometimes the fronts of the houses.</p> -<p>Around these houses, in the streets, everywhere, there played a -seemingly innumerable horde of black and brown and yellow children, -noisy, quarrelsome, clad usually in one-piece dresses of the same -indeterminate shade of grey or red or brown that was seen on the country -children on Saturday. In front of many of the houses, there sat on sunny -days an old and bent man or ancient woman puffing the omnipresent -corn-cob pipe. …</p> -<p>A half-mile westward from “Darktown,” and separated from it by the -Central of Georgia Railroad tracks, stood the Central City Cotton -Spinning-Mill. Clustered around its ugly red-brick walls stood dwellings -that differed but little from those of “Darktown.” Here were the same -dingy, small, unsanitary, unbeautiful, and unpainted dwellings. Here -were the same muddy or dusty unpaved streets. Here were the same squalor -and poverty and filth and abject ignorance. There were but few -superficial or recognizable differences. One was that the children wore, -instead of the brown plumpness of the Negro children, a pale, emaciated, -consumptive air because of the long hours in the lint-laden confines of -the mills. The men were long, stooped, cadaverous-appearing. The women -were sallow, unattractive, sad-looking, <span id="Page_38" -class="pagenum">[38]</span> each usually with the end of a snuff-stick -protruding from her mouth. The children, when they played at all, did so -in listless, wearied, uninterested, and apathetic fashion. The houses -looked even more gaunt and bare than those in the quarter which housed -the poorer Negroes, for the tiny patches of ground that fronted the -houses here in “Factoryville” were but seldom planted with flowers. More -often it was trampled down until it became a hard, red-clay, sunbaked -expanse on which the children, and dogs as emaciated and forlorn, -sometimes played.</p> -<p>Here there was but one strong conviction, but one firm rock of faith -to which they clung—the inherent and carefully nurtured hatred of -“niggers” and a belief in their own infinite superiority over their -dark-skinned neighbours. Their gods were Tom Watson and Hoke Smith and -Tom Hardwick and other demagogic politicians and office-seekers who came -to them every two or four years and harangued them on the necessity of -their upholding white civilization by re-electing them to office. But -one appeal was needed—but one was used—and that one always successfully. -Meanwhile, their children left school and entered the mill to work the -few years that such a life gave them. And, in the meantime, the black -children they hated so-deprived by prejudice from working in the mills, -and pushed forward by often illiterate but always ambitious black -parents—went to school. …</p> -<p>This, in brief, was the Central City to which Kenneth had returned. A -typical Southern town—rea<span id="Page_39" -class="pagenum">[39]</span>sonably rich as wealth is measured in that -part of Georgia—rich in money and lands and cot—amazingly ignorant in -the finer things of life. Noisy, unreflective, their wants but few and -those easily satisfied. The men, self-made, with all that that -distinctly American term implies. The women concerned only with their -petty household affairs and more petty gossip and social intercourse. -But, beyond these, life was and is a closed book. Or, more, a book that -never was written or printed.</p> -<p>The companionship and inspiration of books was unknown. Music, even -with the omnipresent Victrola, meant only the latest bit of cheap jazz -or a Yiddish or Negro dialect song. Art, in its many forms was -considered solely for decadent, effete “furriners.” Hostility would have -met the woman of the town’s upper class who attempted to exhibit any -knowledge of art. Her friends would have felt that she was trying “to -put something over on them.” As for any man of the town, at best he -would have been considered a “little queer in the head,” at the worst -suspected of moral turpitude or perversion. But two releases from the -commonplace, monotonous life were left. The first, liquor. Bootlegging -throve. The woods around Central City were infested with “moonshine” -stills that seldom were still. The initiated drove out to certain lonely -spots, deposited under well-known trees a jug or other container with a -banknote stuck in its mouth. One then gave a certain whistle and walked -away. Soon there would come an answering signal. One went back to <span -id="Page_40" class="pagenum">[40]</span> the tree and found the money -gone but the container filled with a colourless or pale-yellow liquid. … -Or, the more affluent had it brought to them in town hidden under -wagon-loads of fodder or cotton.</p> -<p>The other and even more popular outlet of unfulfilled and suppressed -emotions was sex. Central City boasted it had no red-light district like -Macon and Savannah and Atlanta. That was true. All over the town were -protected domiciles housing slatternly women. To them went by circuitous -routes the merchants whose stores were on Lee Street. To them went the -gangs from the turpentine camps on their periodic pilgrimages to town on -pay-day. And a traveller on any of the roads leading from the town could -see, on warm evenings, automobiles standing with engines stilled and -lights dimmed on the side of the road. Down on Harris and Butler Streets -in “Darktown” were other houses. Here were coloured women who seemed -never to have to work. Here was seldom seen a coloured man. And the -children around these houses were usually lighter in colour than in -other parts of “Darktown.”</p> -<p>Negro fathers and mothers of comely daughters never allowed them to -go out unaccompanied after dark. There were too many dangers from men of -their own race. And even greater ones from men of the other race. There -had been too many disastrous consequences from relaxation of vigil by -certain bowed and heart-broken coloured parents. And they had no redress -at law. The laws of the State against intermarriage saw to it that there -should be none. <span id="Page_41" class="pagenum">[41]</span> Central -City inhabitants knew all these things. But familiarity with them had -bred the belief that they did not exist—that is, they were thought a -natural part of the town’s armament against scandal. One soon grew used -to them and forgot them. The town was no worse than any other—far better -than most.</p> -<p>It was a rude shock to Kenneth when he began to see these things -through an entirely different pair of eyes than those with which he had -viewed them before he left Central City for the North. The sordidness, -the blatant vulgarity, the viciousness of it all—especially the houses -on Butler and Harris Streets—appalled and sickened him. Even more was he -disgusted by the complacent acceptance of the whole miserable business -by white and black alike. On two or three occasions he tentatively -mentioned it to a few of those he had known intimately years before. -Some of them laughed indulgently—others cautioned him to leave it alone. -Finding no response, he shrugged his shoulders and dismissed the whole -affair from his mind. “It was here long before I was born,” he said to -himself philosophically, “it’ll probably be here long after I’m dead, -and the best thing for me to do is to stick to my own business and let -other people’s morals alone.”</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_42" class="pagenum">[42]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER III -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">K</span><span -class="smallcaps">enneth</span> came into contact with few others than -his own people during the first month after his return to Central City. -The first two weeks had been spent in getting his offices arranged with -the innumerable details of carpentering, plastering, painting, and -disposition of the equipment he had ordered in New York during the days -he had spent there on his return from France.</p> -<p>During the early months of 1917, when through every available means -propaganda was being used to whip into being America’s war spirit, one -of the most powerful arguments heard was that of the beneficial effect -army life would have on the men who entered the service. Newspapers and -magazines were filled with it, orators in church and theatre and hall -shouted it, every signboard thrust it into the faces of Americans. -Alluring pictures were painted of the growth, physical and mental, that -would certainly follow enlistment “to make the world safe for -democracy.”</p> -<p>To some of those who fought, such a change probably did come, but the -mental outlook of most of them was changed but little. The war was too -big a thing, too terrible and too searing a catastrophe, to be -adequately comprehended by the farmer boys, the <span id="Page_43" -class="pagenum">[43]</span> clerks, and the boys fresh from school who -chiefly made up the fighting forces. Their lives had been too largely -confined to the narrow ways to enable them to realize the immensity of -the event into which they had been so suddenly plunged. Their most vivid -memories were of “that damned second loot” or of <i>beaucoup vin -blanc</i> or, most frequently, of all-too-brief adventures with the -<i>mademoiselles</i>. With the end of the war and demobilization had -come the short periods of hero-worship and then the sudden forgetfulness -of those for whom they had fought. The old narrow life began again with -but occasional revolts against the monotony of it all, against the -blasting of the high hopes held when the war was being fought. Even -these spasmodic revolts eventually petered out in vague mutterings among -men like themselves who let their inward dissatisfaction dissipate in -thin air.</p> -<p>More deep-rooted was this revolt among Negro ex-service men. Many of -them entered the army, not so much because they were fired with the -desire to fight for an abstract thing like world democracy, but, because -they were of a race oppressed, they entertained very definite beliefs -that service in France would mean a more decent regime in America, when -the war was over, for themselves and all others who were classed as -Negroes. Many of them, consciously or subconsciously, had a spirit which -might have been expressed like this: “Yes, we’ll fight for democracy in -France, but when that’s over with we’re going to expect and we’re going -to get some of that <span id="Page_44" class="pagenum">[44]</span> same -democracy for ourselves right here in America.” It was because of this -spirit and determination that they submitted to the rigid army -discipline to which was often added all the contumely that race -prejudice could heap upon them.</p> -<p>Kenneth was of that class which thought of these things in a more -detached, more abstract, more subconscious manner. During the days when, -stationed close to the line, he treated black men brought to the base -hospital with arms and legs torn away by exploding shells, with bodies -torn and mangled by shrapnel, or with flesh seared by mustard gas, he -had inwardly cursed the so-called civilization which not only permitted -but made such carnage necessary. But when the nightmare had ended, he -rapidly forgot the nausea he had felt, and plunged again into his -beloved work. More easily than he would have thought possible, he forgot -the months of discomfort and weariness and bloodshed. It came back to -him only in fitful memories as of some particularly horrible dream.</p> -<p>To Kenneth, when work grew wearisome or when memories would not down, -there came relaxation in literature, an opiate for which he would never -cease being grateful to Professor Fuller, his old teacher at Atlanta. It -was “Pop”. Fuller who, with his benign and paternal manner, his -adoration of the best of the world’s literature, had sown in Kenneth the -seed of that same love. He read and reread <i>Jean Christophe</i>, -finding in the adventures and particularly in the mental processes of -Rolland’s hero many <span id="Page_45" class="pagenum">[45]</span> of -his own reactions towards life. He had read the plays of Bernard Shaw, -garnering here and there a morsel of truth though much of Shaw eluded -him. Theodore Dreiser’s gloominess and sex-obsession he liked though it -often repelled him; he admired the man for his honesty and disliked his -pessimism or what seemed to him a dolorous outlook on life. He loved the -colourful romances of Hergesheimer, considering them of little enduring -value but nevertheless admiring his descriptions of affluent life, -enjoying it vicariously. Willa Cather’s <i>My Antonia</i> he delighted -in because of its simplicity and power and beauty.</p> -<p>The works of D. H. Lawrence, Kenneth read with conflicting emotions. -Mystical, turgid, tortuous phrases, and meaning not always clear. Yet he -revelled in Lawrence’s clear insight into the bends and backwaters and -perplexing twistings of the stream of life. Kenneth liked best of all -foreign writers Knut Hamsun. He had read many times <i>Hunger, Growth of -the Soil</i>, and other novels of the Norwegian writer. He at times was -annoyed by their lack of plot, but more often he enjoyed them because -they had none, reflecting that life itself is never a smoothly turned -and finished work of art, its causes and effects, its tears and joys, -its loves and hates neatly dovetailing one into another as writers of -fiction would have it.</p> -<p>So too did he satisfy his love for the sea in the novels of -Conrad—the love so many have who are born and grow to manhood far from -the sea. Ken<span id="Page_46" class="pagenum">[46]</span>neth loved it -with an abiding and passionate love loved, yet feared it for its -relentless power and savagery—a love such as a man would have for an -alluring, yet tempestuous mistress of fiery and uncertain temper. In -Conrad’s romances he lived by proxy the life he would have liked had not -fear of the water and the circumstances of his life prevented it. -Flaubert, Zola, Maupassant he read and reread, finding in the struggles -of <i>Emma Bovary</i> and <i>Nana</i> and other heroines and heroes of -the French realists mental counterparts of some of the coloured men and -women of his acquaintance in their struggles against the restrictions of -stupid and crass and ignorant surroundings. The very dissimilarities of -environment and circumstance between his own acquaintances and the -characters in the novels he read, seemed to emphasize the narrowness of -his own life in the South. So does a bedridden invalid read with keen -delight the adventurous and rococo romances of Zane Grey or Jack -London.</p> -<p>But perhaps best of all he admired the writing of Du Bois—the fiery, -burning philippics of one of his own race against the proscriptions of -race prejudice. He read them with a curious sort of detachment—as being -something which touched him in a more or less remote way but not as a -factor in forming his own opinions as a Negro in a land where democracy -often stopped dead at the colour line.</p> -<p>It was in this that Kenneth’s attitude towards life was most clearly -shown. His was the more philosophic viewpoint on the race question, that -problem so <span id="Page_47" class="pagenum">[47]</span> close to him. -The proscriptions which he and others of his race were forced to endure -were inconvenient, yet they were apparently a part of life, one of its -annoyances, a thing which had always been and probably would be for all -time to come. Therefore, he reasoned, why bother with it any more than -one was forced to by sheer necessity? Better it was for him if he -attended to his own individual problems, solved them to the best of his -ability and as circumstances would permit, and left to those who chose -to do it the agitation for the betterment of things in general. If he -solved his problems and every other Negro did the same, he often -thought, then the thing we call the race problem will be solved. -Besides, he reasoned, the whole thing is too big for one man to tackle -it, and if he does attack it, more than likely he will go down to defeat -in the attempt. And what would be gained? …</p> -<p>His office completed, Kenneth began the making of those contacts he -needed to secure the patients he knew were coming. In this his mother -and Mamie were of invaluable assistance. Everybody knew the Harpers. It -was a simple matter for Kenneth to renew acquaintances broken when he -had left for school in the North. He joined local lodges of the Grand -United Order of Heavenly Reapers and the Exalted Knights of Damon. The -affected mysteriousness of his initiation into these fraternal orders, -the secret grip, the passwords, the elaborately worded rituals, all of -which the other members took so seriously, amused him, but he went -through it all with an out <span id="Page_48" -class="pagenum">[48]</span> wardly solemn demeanour. He knew it was good -business to affiliate himself with these often absurd societies which -played so large a part in the lives of these simple and illiterate -coloured folk. Along with the strenuous emotionalism of their religion, -it served as an outlet for their naturally deep feelings. In spite of -the renewal of acquaintances, the careful campaign of winning confidence -in his ability as a physician, Kenneth found that the flood of patients -did not come as he had hoped. The coloured people of Central City had -had impressed upon them by three hundred years of slavery and that which -was called freedom after the Emancipation Proclamation was signed, that -no Negro doctor, however talented, was quite as good as a white one. -This slave mentality, Kenneth now realized, inbred upon generation after -generation of coloured folk, is the greatest handicap from which the -Negro suffers, destroying as it does that confidence in his own ability -which would enable him to meet without fear or apology the test of -modern competition.</p> -<p>Kenneth’s youthful appearance, too, militated against him. Though -twenty-nine years old, he looked not more than a mere twenty-four or -twenty-five. “He may know his stuff and be as smart as all outdoors,” -ran the usual verdict, “but I don’t want no boy treating me when I’m -sick.”</p> -<p>Perhaps the greatest factor contributing to the coloured folks’ lack -of confidence in physicians of their own race was the inefficiency of -Dr. Williams, the only coloured doctor in Central City prior to <span -id="Page_49" class="pagenum">[49]</span> Kenneth’s return. Dr. Williams -belonged to the old school and moved on the theory that when he -graduated some eighteen years before from a medical school in Alabama, -the development of medical knowledge had stopped. He fondly pictured -himself as being the most prominent personage of Central City’s Negro -colony, was pompous, bulbous-eyed, and exceedingly fond of long words, -especially of Latin derivation. He made it a rule of his life never to -use a word of one syllable if one of two or more would serve as well. -Active in fraternal order circles (he was a member of nine lodges), -class-leader in Central City’s largest Methodist church, arbiter supreme -of local affairs in general, he filled the rôle with what he imagined -was unsurpassable éclat. His idea of complimenting a hostess was -ostentatiously to loosen his belt along about the middle of dinner. Once -he had been introduced as the “black William Jennings Bryan,” believed -it thereafter, and thought it praise of a high order.</p> -<p>He was one of those who say on every possible occasion: “I am kept so -terribly busy I never have a minute to myself.” Like nine out of ten who -say it, Dr. Williams always repeated this stock phrase of those who -flatter themselves in this fashion—so necessary to those of small minds -who would be thought great—not because it was true, but to enhance his -pre-eminence in the eyes of his hearers—and in his own eyes as well.</p> -<p>He always wore coats which resembled morning coats, known in local -parlance as “Jim-swingers.” <span id="Page_50" -class="pagenum">[50]</span> He kept his hair straightened, wore it -brushed straight back from his forehead like highly polished steel -wires, and, with pomades and hair oils liberally applied, it glistened -like the patent leather shoes which adorned his ample feet.</p> -<p>His stout form filled the Ford in which he made his professional -calls, and it was a sight worth seeing as he majestically rolled through -the streets of the town bowing graciously and calling out loud greetings -to the acquaintances he espied by the way. Always his bows to white -people were twice as low and obsequious as to those of darker skin. -Until Kenneth returned, Dr. Williams had had his own way in Central -City. Through his fraternal and church connections and lack of -competition, he had made a little money, much of it through his position -as medical examiner for the lodges to which he belonged. As long as he -treated minor ailments—cuts, colic, childbirths, and the like he had -little trouble. But when more serious maladies attacked them, the -coloured population sent for the old white physician, Dr. Bennett, -instead of for Dr. Williams.</p> -<p>The great amount of time at his disposal irritated Kenneth. He was -like a spirited horse, champing at the bit, eager to be off. The -patronizing air of his people nettled him—caused him to reflect somewhat -bitterly that “a prophet is not without honour save in his own country.” -And when one has not the gift of prophecy to foretell, or of -clairvoyance to see, what the future holds in the way of success, one is -not likely to develop a philosophic calm which en<span id="Page_51" -class="pagenum">[51]</span>ables him to await the coming of long-desired -results. He was seated one day in his office reading when his mother -entered. Closing his book, he asked the reason for her frown.</p> -<p>“You remember Mrs. Bradley—Mrs. Emma Bradley down on Ashley -Street-don’t you, Kenneth?” Without waiting for a reply, Mrs. Harper -went on: “Well, she’s mighty sick. Jim Bradley has had Dr. Bennett in to -see what’s the matter with her but he don’t seem to do her much -good.”</p> -<p>Kenneth remembered Mrs. Bradley well indeed. The most talkative woman -in Central City. It was she who had come to his mother with a long face -and dolorous manner when he as a youngster had misbehaved in church. He -had learned instinctively to connect Mrs. Bradley’s visits with -excursions to the little back room accompanied by his mother and a -switch cut from the peach-tree in the back yard—a sort of natural cause -and effect. Visions of those days rose in his mind and he imagined he -could feel the sting of those switches on his legs now.</p> -<p>“What seems to be the trouble with her?” he asked.</p> -<p>“It’s some sort of stomach-trouble—she’s got an awful pain in her -side. She says it can’t be her appendix because she had that removed up -to Atlanta when she was operated on there for a tumour nearly four years -ago. Dr. Bennett gave her some medicine but it doesn’t help here any. -Won’t you run down there to see her?”</p> -<p>“I can’t, mamma, until I am called in professionally. Dr. Bennett -won’t like it. It isn’t ethical. <span id="Page_52" -class="pagenum">[52]</span> Besides, didn’t Mrs. Bradley say when I came -back that she didn’t want any coloured doctor fooling with her?”</p> -<p>“Yes, she did, but you mustn’t mind that. Just run in to see her as a -social call.”</p> -<p>Kenneth rose and instinctively took up his bag. Remembering, he put -it down, put on his hat, kissed his mother, and walked down to -Mrs. Bradley’s. Outside the gate stood Dr. Bennett’s mud-splashed buggy, -sagging on one side through years of service in carrying its owner’s -great bulk. Between the shafts stood the old bay horse, its head hung -dejectedly as though asleep, which Central City always connected with -its driver.</p> -<p>Entering the gate held by one hinge, Kenneth made his way to the -little three-room unpainted house which served as home for the Bradleys -and their six children. On knocking, the door was opened by Dr. Bennett, -who apparently was just leaving. He stood there, his hat on, stained by -many storms, its black felt turning a greenish brown through years of -service and countless rides through the red dust of the roads leading -out of Central City. Dr. Bennett himself was large and flabby. His -clothes hung on him in haphazard fashion and looked as though they had -never been subjected to the indignity of a tailor’s iron. A Sherlock -Holmes, or even one less gifted, could read on his vest with little -difficulty those things which its wearer had eaten for many meals past. -Dr. Bennett’s face was red through exposure to many suns, and covered -with the bristle of a three days’ <span id="Page_53" -class="pagenum">[53]</span> growth of beard. Small eyes set close -together, they belied a bluff good humour which Dr. Bennett could easily -assume when there was occasion for it. The corners of the mouth were -stained a deep brown where tobacco juice had run down the folds of the -flesh.</p> -<p>Behind him stood Jim Bradley with worried face, his ashy black skin -showing the effects of remaining all night by the bedside of his -wife.</p> -<p>Dr. Bennett looked at Kenneth inquiringly.</p> -<p>“Don’t you remember me, Dr. Bennett? I’m Kenneth Harper.”</p> -<p>“Bless my soul, so it is. How’re you, Ken? Le’s see it’s been nigh on -to eight years since you went No’th, ain’t it? Heard you was back in -town. Hear you goin’ to practise here. Come ‘round to see me some time. -Right glad you’re here. I’ll be kinder glad to get somebody to help me -treat these niggers for colic or when they get carved up in a crap game. -Hope you ain’t got none of them No’then ideas ’bout social equality -while you was up there. Jus’ do like your daddy did, and you’ll get -along all right down here. These niggers who went over to France and ran -around with them Frenchwomen been causin’ a lot of trouble ‘round here, -kickin’ up a rumpus, and talkin’ ‘bout votin’ and ridin’ in the same car -with white folks. But don’t you let them get you mixed up in it, ‘cause -there’ll be trouble sho’s you born if they don’t shut up and git to -work. Jus’ do like your daddy did, and you’ll do a lot to keep the white -folks’ friendship.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_54" class="pagenum">[54]</span> Dr. Bennett poured -forth all this gratuitous advice between asthmatic wheezes without -waiting for Kenneth to reply. He then turned to Jim Bradley with a -parting word of advice.</p> -<p>“Jim, keep that hot iron on Emma’s stomach and give her those pills -every hour. ‘Tain’t nothin’ but the belly-ache. She’ll be all right in -an hour or two.”</p> -<p>Turning without another word, he half ambled, half shuffled out to -his buggy, pulled himself up into it with more puffing and wheezing, and -drove away. Jim Bradley took Kenneth’s arm and led him back on to the -little porch, closing the door behind him.</p> -<p>“I’m pow’ful glad t’ see you, Ken. My, but you done growed sence you -went up No’th! Befo’ you go in dar, I want t’ tell you somethin’. Emma’s -been right po’ly fuh two days. Her stomach’s swelled up right sma’t and -she’s been hollering all night. Dis mawning she don’t seem jus’ right in -de haid. I tol her I was gwine to ast you to come see her, but she said -she didn’t want no young nigger doctah botherin’ with her. But don’t you -min’ her. I wants you to tell me what to do.”</p> -<p>Kenneth smiled.</p> -<p>“I’ll do what I can for her, Jim. But what about Dr. Bennett?”</p> -<p>“Dat’s a’ right. He give her some med’cine but it ain’t done her no -good. She’s too good a woman fuh me to lose her, even if she do talk a -li’l’ too much. You make out like you jus’ drap in to pass the time o’ -day with her.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_55" class="pagenum">[55]</span> Kenneth entered the -dark and ill-smelling room. Opposite the door a fire smouldered in the -fire-place, giving fitful spurts of flame that illumined the room and -then died down again. There was no grate, the pieces of wood resting on -crude andirons, blackened by the smoke of many fires. Over the mantel -there hung a cheap charcoal reproduction of Jim and Emma in their -wedding-clothes, made by some local “artist” from an old photograph. One -or two nondescript chairs worn shiny through years of use stood before -the fire. In one corner stood a dresser on which were various bottles of -medicine and of “Madame Walker’s Hair Straightener.” On the floor a rug, -worn through in spots and patched with fragments of other rugs all -apparently of different colours, covered the space in front of the bed. -The rest of the floor was bare and showed evidences of a recent vigorous -scrubbing. The one window was closed tightly and covered over with a -cracked shade, long since divorced from its roller, tacked to the upper -ledge of the window.</p> -<p>On the bed Mrs. Bradley was rolling and tossing in great pain. Her -eyes opened slightly when Kenneth approached the bed and closed again -immediately as a new spasm of pain passed through her body. She moaned -piteously and held her hands on her side, pressing down hard one hand -over the other.</p> -<p>At a sign from Jim, Kenneth started to take her pulse.</p> -<p>“Go way from here and leave me ‘lone! Oh, <span id="Page_56" -class="pagenum">[56]</span> Lawdy, why is I suff’rin’ this way? I jus’ -wish I was daid! Oh-oh-oh!”</p> -<p>This last as she writhed in agony. Kenneth drew back the covers, -examined Mrs. Bradley’s abdomen, took her pulse. Every sign pointed to -an attack of acute appendicitis. He informed Jim of his diagnosis.</p> -<p>“But, Doc, it ain’t dat trouble, ’cause Emma says dat was taken out a -long time ago.”</p> -<p>“I can’t help what she says. She’s got appendicitis. You go get -Dr. Bennett and tell him your wife has got to be operated on right away -or she is going to die. Get a move on you now! If it was my case, I -would operate within an hour. Stop by my house and tell Bob to bring me -an ice bag as quick as he can.”</p> -<p>Jim hurried away to catch Dr. Bennett. Kenneth meanwhile did what he -could to relieve Mrs. Bradley’s suffering. In a few minutes Bob came -with the ice bag. Then Jim returned with his face even more doleful than -it had been when Kenneth had told him how sick his wife was.</p> -<p>“Doc Bennett says he don’t care what you do. He got kinder mad when I -told him you said it was ‘pendicitis, and tol’ me dat if I couldn’t take -his word, he wouldn’t have anything mo’ to do with Emma. He seemed -kinder mad ‘cause you said it was mo’ than a stomach-ache. Said he -wa’n’t goin’ to let no young nigger doctor tell him his bus’ness. So, -Doc, you’ll have t’ do what you thinks bes’.”</p> -<p>“All right, I’ll do it. First thing, I’m going to <span id="Page_57" -class="pagenum">[57]</span> move your wife over to my office. We can put -her up in the spare room. Bob will drive her over in the car. Get -something around her and you’d better come on over with her. I’ll get -Dr. Williams to help me.”</p> -<p>Kenneth was jubilant at securing his first surgical case since his -return to Central City, though his pleasure was tinged with doubt as to -the ethics of the manner in which it had come to him. He did not let -that worry him very long, however, but began his preparations for the -operation.</p> -<p>First he telephoned to Mrs. Johnson, who, before she married and -settled down in Central City, had been a trained nurse at a coloured -hospital at Atlanta. She hurried over at once. Neat, quiet, and -efficient, she took charge immediately of preparations, sterilizing the -array of shiny instruments, preparing wads of absorbent cotton, -arranging bandages and catgut and hæmostatics.</p> -<p>Kenneth left all this to Mrs. Johnson, for he knew in her hands it -would be well done. He telephoned to Dr. Williams to ask that he give -the anæsthesia. In his excitement Kenneth neglected to put in his voice -the note of asking a great and unusual favour of Dr. Williams. That -eminent physician, eminent in his own eyes, cleared his throat several -times before replying, while Kenneth waited at the other end of the -line. He realized his absolute dependence on Dr. Williams, for he knew -no white doctor would assist a Negro surgeon or even operate with a -coloured assistant. There was none other in Central <span id="Page_58" -class="pagenum">[58]</span> City who could give the ether to -Mrs. Bradley. It made him furious that Dr. Williams should hesitate so -long. At the same time, he knew he must restrain the hot and burning -words that he would have used. The pompous one hinted of the pressure of -his own work—work that would keep him busy all day.</p> -<p>Into his words he injected the note of affront at being asked—he, the -coloured physician of Central City—to assist a younger man. Especially -on that man’s first case. Kenneth swallowed his anger and pride, and -pleaded with Dr. Williams at least to come over. Finally, the older -physician agreed in a condescending manner to do so.</p> -<p>Hurrying back to his office, Kenneth found Mrs. Bradley arranged on -the table ready for the operation. Examining her, he found she was in -delirium, her eyes glazed, her abdomen hard and distended, and she had a -temperature of 105 degrees. He hastily sterilized his hands and put on -his gown and cap. As he finished his preparations, Dr. Williams in -leisurely manner strolled into the room with a benevolent and -patronizing “Howdy, Kenneth, my boy. I won’t be able to help you out -after all. I’ve got to see some patients of my own.”</p> -<p>He emphasized “my own,” for he had heard of the manner by which -Kenneth had obtained the case of Mrs. Bradley Kenneth, pale with anger, -excited over his first real case in Central City, stared at Dr. Williams -in amazement at his words.</p> -<p>“But, Dr. Williams, you can’t do that! Mrs. Bradley here is -dying!”</p> -<p><span id="Page_59" class="pagenum">[59]</span> The older doctor -looked around patronizingly at the circle of anxious faces. Jim Bradley, -his face lined and seamed with toil, the lines deepened in distress at -the agony of his wife and the imminence of losing her, gazed at him with -dumb pleading in his eyes, pleading without spoken words with the look -of an old, faithful dog beseeching its master. Bob looked with a -malevolent glare at his pompous sleekness, as though he would like to -spring upon him.</p> -<p>Mrs. Johnson plainly showed her contempt of such callousness on the -part of one who bore the title, however poorly, of physician. In -Kenneth’s eyes was a commingling of eagerness and rage and bitterness -and anxiety. On Emma Bradley’s face there was nothing but the pain and -agony of her delirious ravings. Dr. Williams seemed to enjoy thoroughly -his little moment of triumph. He delayed speaking in order that it might -be prolonged as much as possible. The silence was broken by Jim -Bradley.</p> -<p>“Doc, won’t you please he’p?” he pleaded. “She’s all I got!”</p> -<p>Kenneth could remain silent no longer. He longed to punch that fat -face and erase from it the supercilious smirk that adorned it.</p> -<p>“Dr. Williams,” he began with cold hatred in his voice, “either you -are going to give this anæsthesia or else I’m going to go into every -church in Central City and tell exactly what you’ve done here -today.”</p> -<p>Dr. Williams turned angrily on Kenneth.</p> -<p>“Young man, I don’t allow anybody to talk to me <span id="Page_60" -class="pagenum">[60]</span> like that-least of all, a young -whippersnapper just out of school …” he shouted.</p> -<p>By this time Kenneth’s patience was at an end. He seized the lapels -of the other doctor’s coat in one hand and thrust his clenched fist -under the nose of the now thoroughly alarmed Dr. Williams.</p> -<p>“Are you going to help—or aren’t you?” he demanded.</p> -<p>The situation was becoming too uncomfortable for the older man. He -could stand Kenneth’s opposition but not the ridicule which would -inevitably follow the spreading of the news that he had been beaten up -and made ridiculous by Kenneth. He swallowed—a look of indecision passed -over his face as he visibly wondered if Kenneth really dared hit -him—followed by a look of fear as Kenneth drew back his fist as though -to strike. Discretion seemed the better course to pursue he could wait -until a later and more propitious date for his revenge—he agreed to -help. A look of relief came over Jim Bradley’s face. A grin covered -Bob’s as he saw his brother showing at last some signs of fighting -spirit. Without further words Kenneth prepared to operate. …</p> -<p>The patient under the ether, Kenneth with sure, deft strokes made an -incision and rapidly removed the appendix. Ten—twelve—fifteen minutes, -and the work was done. He found Mrs. Bradley’s peritoneum badly -inflamed, the appendix swollen and about to burst. A few hours’ delay -and it would have been too late. …</p> -<p>The next morning Mrs. Bradley’s temperature had <span id="Page_61" -class="pagenum">[61]</span> gone down to normal. Two weeks later she was -sufficiently recovered to be removed to her home. Three weeks later she -was on her feet again. Then Kenneth for the first time in his life had -no fault to find with the vigour with which Mrs. Bradley could use her -tongue. Glorying as only such a woman can in her temporary fame at -escape from death by so narrow a margin, she went up and down the -streets of the town telling how Kenneth had saved her life. With each -telling of the story it took on more embellishments until eventually the -simple operation ranked in importance in her mind with the first -sewing-up of the human heart.</p> -<p>Kenneth found his practice growing. His days were filled with his -work. One man viewed his growing practice with bitterness. It was -Dr. Williams, resentful of the small figure he had cut in the episode in -Kenneth’s office, which had become known all over Central City. Of a -petty and vindictive nature, he bided his time until he could force -atonement from the upstart who had so presumptuously insulted and -belittled him, the Beau Brummel, the leading physician, the prominent -coloured citizen. But Kenneth, if he knew of the hatred in the man’s -heart, was supremely oblivious of it.</p> -<p>The morning after his operation on Mrs. Bradley, he added another to -the list of those who did not wish him well. He had taken the bottle of -alcohol containing Mrs. Bradley’s appendix to Dr. Bennett to show that -worthy that he had been right, after all, in his diagnosis. He found him -seated in his office, <span id="Page_62" class="pagenum">[62]</span> -Dr. Bennett, with little apparent interest, glanced at the bottle.</p> -<p>“Humph!” he ejaculated, aiming at the cuspidor and letting fly a thin -stream of tobacco juice which accurately met its mark. “You never can -tell what’s wrong with a nigger anyhow. They ain’t got nacheral diseases -like white folks. A hoss doctor can treat ’em better’n one that treats -humans. I always said that a nigger’s more animal than human. …”</p> -<p>Kenneth had been eager to discuss the case of Mrs. Bradley with his -fellow practitioner. He had not even been asked to sit down by -Dr. Bennett. He realized for the first time that in spite of the -superiority of his medical training to that of Dr. Bennett’s, the latter -did not recognize him as a qualified physician, but only as a “nigger -doctor.” Making some excuse, he left the house. Dr. Bennett turned back -to the local paper he had been reading when Kenneth entered, took a -fresh chew of tobacco from the plug in his hip pocket, grunted, and -remarked: “A damned nigger telling me I don’t know medicine!”</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_63" class="pagenum">[63]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER IV -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">T</span><span -class="smallcaps">wo</span> months passed by. Kenneth had begun to -secure more patients than he could very well handle. Already he was kept -busier than Dr. Williams though there was enough practice for both of -them. Kenneth soon began to tire of treating minor ailments and longed -to reach the time when he could give up his general practice and devote -his time to surgery. Except for the delivery of the babies that came -with amazing rapidity in the community, he did little else than treat -colic, minor cuts, children’s diseases, with an occasional case of -tuberculosis. More frequently he treated for venereal diseases, though -this latter was even more distasteful to him than general practice while -at the same time more remunerative.</p> -<p>A new source of practice and revenue began gradually to grow. The -main entrance to his office was on Lee Street. This door was some fifty -feet back from Lee Street, and the overhanging branches of the elms cut -off completely the light from the street lamp at the corner. One night, -as he sat reading in his office, there came a knock at his door. Opening -it, he found standing there Roy Ewing. Ewing had inherited the general -merchandise store bearing his name from his father, was a deacon in the -largest <span id="Page_64" class="pagenum">[64]</span> Baptist Church in -Central City, was president of the Central City Chamber of Commerce, and -was regarded as a leading citizen.</p> -<p>Kenneth gazed at his caller in some surprise.</p> -<p>“Hello, Ken. Anybody around?”</p> -<p>On being assured that he was alone, Ewing entered, brushing by -Kenneth to get out of the glare of the light. Kenneth followed him into -the office, meanwhile asking his caller what he could do for him.</p> -<p>“Ken, I’ve got a little job I want you to do for me. I’m in a little -trouble. Went up to Macon last month with Bill Jackson, and we had a -little fun. I guess I took too much liquor. We went by a place Bill knew -about where there were some girls. I took a fancy to a little girl from -Atlanta who told me she had slipped away from home and her folks thought -she was visiting her cousins at Forsyth. Anyhow, I thought everything -was all right, but I’m in a bad way and I want you to treat me. I can’t -go to Dr. Bennett ’cause I don’t want him to know about it. I’ll take -care of you all right, and if you get me fixed up I’ll pay you -well.”</p> -<p>Kenneth looked at him in amazement. Roy Ewing, acknowledged leader of -the “superior race”! He knew too much of the ways of the South, however, -to make any comment or let too much of what was going on in his mind -show on his face. He gave the treatment required. That was Kenneth’s -introduction to one part of the work of a coloured physician <span -id="Page_65" class="pagenum">[65]</span> in the South. Many phases of -life that he as a youth had never known about or, before his larger -experience in the North and in France, had passed by him unnoticed, he -now had brought to his attention. This was one of them. He began to see -more clearly that his was going to be a difficult course to pursue. He -determined anew that as far as possible he would keep to his own affairs -and meddle not at all with the life about him.</p> -<p>When Ewing had gone, Kenneth returned to his reading. Hardly had he -started again when Bob came in.</p> -<p>“Can you stop for a few minutes, Ken? I want to talk with you.”</p> -<p>With a look of regret at his book, Kenneth settled back and prepared -to listen.</p> -<p>“What world problem have you got on your mind now, Bob?”</p> -<p>“Don’t start to kidding me, Ken. I don’t see how you can shut your -eyes to how coloured people are being treated here.”</p> -<p>“What’s wrong? Everything seems to me to be getting along as well as -can be expected.”</p> -<p>“That’s because you don’t go out of the house unless you are hurrying -to give somebody a pill or a dose of medicine. To-day I came by the -school to get Mamie and bring her home. You ought to see the dump they -call a school building. It’s a dirty old building that looks like it’ll -fall down any time a hard wind comes along. All that’s inside is a <span -id="Page_66" class="pagenum">[66]</span> rickety table, and some hard -benches with no desks, and when it rains they have to send the children -home, as the water stands two or three inches deep on the floor. Outside -of Mamie they haven’t one teacher who’s gone any higher than the sixth -or seventh grade—they have to take anybody who is willing to work for -the twelve dollars a month they pay coloured teachers.”</p> -<p>Bob’s face had on it the look of discontent and resentment that was -almost growing chronic.</p> -<p>“Well, what can we do about it? I’m afraid you’re getting to be a -regular Atlas, trying to carry all the burdens of the world on your -shoulders. I know things aren’t all they ought to be, but you and I -can’t solve the problems. The race problem will be here long after we’re -dead and gone.”</p> -<p>“Oh, for goodness’ sake, shut up that preachy tone of long-suffering -patience, will you?—and forget your own little interests for a while. I -know you think I’m silly to let these things worry me. But the reason -why things are as bad as they are is just because the majority of -Negroes are like you—always dodging anything that may make them -unpopular with white folks. And that isn’t all. There’s a gang of white -boys that hang around Ewing’s Store that meddle with every coloured girl -that goes by. I was in the store to-day when Minnie Baxter passed by on -her way to the post office, and that dirty little Jim Archer said -something that made me boil all over. And it didn’t help any to know -that if I had said a word to him, there would have been a fight, <span -id="Page_67" class="pagenum">[67]</span> and I would have been beaten -half to death if I hadn’t been killed.”</p> -<p>“Yes, I’ve seen that, too. What we ought to do is to try and keep -these girls off of Lee Street, unless someone is with them. If we -weren’t living in the South, we might do something. But here we are, and -as long as we stay here, we’ve got to swallow a lot of these things and -stay to ourselves.”</p> -<p>“But, Ken, it isn’t always convenient for someone to go downtown with -them. I’ll tell you what let’s do. Let’s get the better class of -coloured people together like Reverend Wilson, Mr. Graham, Mr. Adams, -and some others, and form a Coloured Protective League here in Central -City. We can then take up these cases and see if something can’t be done -to remedy them.”</p> -<p>Bob leaned forward in his eagerness to impress Kenneth with his -idea.</p> -<p>“You see, if any one or two of us takes up a case we are marked men. -But if there are two or three hundred of us they can’t take it out on -all of us.”</p> -<p>“That’s true. But what about the effect on the white people whose -actions you want to check? If Negroes start organizing for any purpose -whatever, there’ll always be folks who’ll declare they are planning to -start some trouble. No, I don’t think we ought to do anything just now. -I tell you what I’ll do. The next time I see Roy Ewing, I’ll speak to -him and ask him to stop those fellows from annoying our girls, The -fellows can take care of themselves.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_68" class="pagenum">[68]</span> Bob rose and shrugged -his shoulders and said nothing more. Kenneth after a minute or two -returned to his book.</p> -<p>Nothing further was said on the subject for several days. When -Mr. Ewing called the following week, Kenneth brought the matter up, and -told him what Bob had said about the boys in front of Ewing’s store.</p> -<p>“I’ve seen them doing it, Ken, and I spoke to them only to-day about -it. But you know, boys will be boys, and they haven’t done any harm to -the girls. Their talk is a little rough at times, but as long as it -stops there, I don’t see why anybody should object.”</p> -<p>“But, Mr. Ewing, Bob tells me that they say some pretty raw things. -Suppose one of them said the same things to Mrs. Ewing, how would you -feel then?”</p> -<p>Ewing flushed.</p> -<p>“That’s different. Mrs. Ewing is a white woman.”</p> -<p>“But can’t you see that we feel towards our women just as you do -towards yours? If one of those fellows ever spoke to my sister, there’s -be trouble, and the Lord knows I want to get along with all the people -here, if I can. If this thing called democracy that I helped fight for -is worth anything at all, it ought to mean that we coloured people -should be protected like anybody else.”</p> -<p>Mr. Ewing looked at Kenneth sharply.</p> -<p>“I know that things aren’t altogether as they ought to be. It’s -pretty tough on fellows like you, Ken, <span id="Page_69" -class="pagenum">[69]</span> who have had an education. While you were -away, a bunch of these mill hands ’cross the tracks got Jerry Bird, a -nigger that’d been working for me nearly five years. He came here from -down the country some place after you left for up North. Jerry was as -steady a fellow as I’ve ever seen—as honest as the day was long. I -trusted Jerry anywhere, lots quicker than I would’ve some of these white -people ’round here. He had a black skin but his heart was white. One -night Jerry was over to my house helping Mrs. Ewing until nearly ten -o’clock. On his way home this bunch of roughnecks from “Factoryville” -stopped him while they were looking for a nigger that’d scared a white -girl. When Jerry got scared and started to run, they took out after him -and strung him up to a tree. And he wasn’t any more guilty of touching -that white girl than you or me.”</p> -<p>“What did you do about it?” asked Bob.</p> -<p>“Nothing. Suppose I had kicked up a ruckus about it. They found out -afterwards that the girl hadn’t been bothered at all. But just suppose I -had gone and cussed out the fellows who did the lynching. Most of them -trade at my store. Or if they don’t, a lot of their friends do. They’d -have taken their trade to some other store and I’d ‘a’ gained nothing -for my trouble.”</p> -<p>“But surely you don’t believe that lynching ever helps, do you?”</p> -<p>“Yes and no. Lynching never bothers folks like you. Why, your daddy -was one of the most re<span id="Page_70" -class="pagenum">[70]</span>spected folks in this town. But lynching does -keep some of these young nigger bucks in check.”</p> -<p>“Does it? It seems to me that there isn’t much less so-called rape -around here or anywhere else in the South, even after forty years of -lynching. Mr. Ewing, why don’t you and the other decent white people -here come out against lynching?”</p> -<p>“Who? Me? Never!” Ewing looked his amazement at the suggestion. “Why, -it would ruin my business, my wife would begin to be dropped by all the -other folks of the town, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d begin -calling me a ‘nigger-lover.’ No, sir-ee! I’ll just let things rock along -and let well enough alone.”</p> -<p>“Mr. Ewing, if fifty men like you in this town banded together and -came out flat-footedly against lynching, there are lots more who would -join you gladly.”</p> -<p>“That may be true,” Ewing answered doubtfully. “But then again it -mightn’t. Let’s see who might be some of the fifty. There’s George -Baird, he’s president of the Bank of Central City, and Fred Griswold, -president of the Smith County Farmers’ Bank. You can count them out -because they’d be afraid of losing their depositors. Then there’s Ralph -Minor who owns the Bon Ton Store. He’s out for the same reason that I -am. Then there’s Nat Phelps, who runs the Central City Dispatch. He has -a hard enough time as it is. If he lost a couple of hundred subscribers, -he’d have to close up shop. And so it goes.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_71" class="pagenum">[71]</span> “What about the -preachers? It doesn’t seem much of a religion they’re preaching if the -commandment, ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ doesn’t form part of their -creed.”</p> -<p>“Oh, you needn’t look for nothing much from them. Three years ago old -Reverend Adams down to the First Methodist took it into his head he was -going to tackle something easy—nothing like the race problem. He started -in to wipe out the bootleggers ’round here, thinking he could get a lot -of support. But he didn’t, because most of the folks he figgered on -lining up with him were regular customers of the fellows he was after.” -Ewing chuckled at the memory of the crusade that had died “aborning.” -“When the next quarterly conference was held, they elected a new pastor -for the First Methodist. No, Ken, it ain’t so easy as it looks. You’re -asking me to do something that not a Southern white man has done since -the Civil War⸺”</p> -<p>Rising, he walked towards the door and remarked:</p> -<p>“My advice to you is to stay away from any talk like this with -anybody else. There probably ain’t another man in town who would’ve -talked to you like this, and if the boys in the Ku Klux Klan knew I had -been running along like this with a coloured man, I don’t know what’d -happen to me. See you later. So long!”</p> -<p>Kenneth walked up and down the room with his hands stuffed deep into -his pockets, his thoughts rushing through his head in helter-skelter -fashion. He was suddenly conscious of a feeling that he <span -id="Page_72" class="pagenum">[72]</span> had been thrust into a tiny -boat and forced to embark on a limitless sea, with neither compass nor -chart nor sun nor moon to guide him. Would he arrive? Or would he go -down in some squall which arose from he knew not where or when? The -whole situation seemed so vast, so sinister, so monstrous, that he -shuddered involuntarily, as he had done as a child when left alone in a -dark room at night. Religion, which had been the guide and stay of his -father in like circumstances, offered him no solace. He thought with a -faint smile of the institution known as the Church. What was it? A vast -money machine, interested in rallies and pastors’ days and schemes to -milk more dollars from its communicants. In preparing people to die. He -wasn’t interested in what was going to happen to him after death. What -he wanted was some guide and comfort in his present problems. No, -religion and the Church as it was now constituted wasn’t the answer. -What was? He could not give it.</p> -<p>“Here I am,” he soliloquized, “with the best education money can buy. -And yet Roy Ewing, who hasn’t been any further than high school, tells -me I’d better submit to all this without protest. Yet he stands for the -best there is here in Central City, and I suppose he represents the most -liberal thought of the South. How’s it all going to end? Even a rat will -fight when he’s cornered, and these coloured people aren’t going to -stand for these things all the time. What can I do? God, there isn’t -anything—anything I can do? Bob is right! Something <span id="Page_73" -class="pagenum">[73]</span> must be done, but what is it? I reckon these -white folks must be blind—or else they figure on leaving whatever -solution there may be to their children, hoping the storm doesn’t break -while they are liv. ing. No! That isn’t it. They think because they’ve -been able to get away with it thus far, they’ll always be able to get -away with it. Oh, God, I’m helpless! I’m helpless!”</p> -<p>Kenneth had begun to comprehend the delicate position a Negro always -occupies in places like Central City—in fact, throughout the South. So -little had he come into contact with the perplexities of the race -question before he went away to school, he had seen little of the -windings and turnings, the tortuous paths the Negro must follow to avoid -giving offence to the dominant white sentiment. As he saw each day more -and more of the evasions, the repressions, the choking back of natural -impulses the Negro practised to avoid trouble, Kenneth often thought of -the coloured man as a chip of wood floating on the surface of a choppy -sea, tossed this way and that by every wind that blew upon the waters. -He must of necessity be constantly on his guard when talking with his -white neighbours, or with any white men in the South, to keep from -uttering some word, some phrase which, like a seed dropped and -forgotten, lies fallow for a time in the brain of the one to whom he -talks, but later blossoms forth into that noxious death-dealing plant -which is the mob. Innocent enough of guile or malice that word may be, -yet he must be careful lest it be distorted and magnified <span -id="Page_74" class="pagenum">[74]</span> until it can be the cause of -violence to himself and his people. Often—very often—it is true that no -evil follows. Yet the possibility that it may come must always be -considered. But one factor is fixed and immutable the more intelligent -and prosperous the Negro and the more ignorant and poor the white man, -the graver the danger, for in the mind of the latter are jealousy and -ignorance and stupidity and abject fear of the educated and successful -Negro.</p> -<p>His talk with Ewing had crystallized the thoughts, half developed, -which his observations since his return had planted in his mind. Kenneth -began to see how involved the whole question really was, he was seeing -dim paths of expediency and opportunism he would be forced to tread if -he expected to reach the goal he had set for himself. Already he found -one of his pet ideas to be of doubtful value the theory he had had that -success would give a Negro immunity from persecution. Like a scroll -slowly unwinding before his eyes, Kenneth saw, as yet only partially, -that instead of freeing him from danger of the mob, too great prosperity -would make him and every other Negro outstanding targets of the wrath -and envy of the poorer whites—that jealousy which “is cruel as the -grave.” Oh, well, he reflected, others had avoided trouble and so could -he. He would have to be exceedingly careful to avoid too great display, -and at the same time cultivate the goodwill of those men like Roy Ewing -and Judge Stevenson who would stand by him if there was need.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_75" class="pagenum">[75]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER V -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">K</span><span -class="smallcaps">enneth</span> was roused by a light tap upon the door. -Opening it, Mamie stood on the threshold. Inquiring whether Kenneth had -finished his work, and on being told he had, she entered. “Kenneth, why -do you spend all your time here in the office? Don’t you think mamma and -I want to talk with you occasionally?”</p> -<p>Mamie seated herself on the arm of Kenneth’s chair.</p> -<p>“Seems like you’re becoming a regular hermit since you’ve been back. -Come on in the parlour—Jane Phillips is in there and she wants to see -you. Remember her?”</p> -<p>Kenneth smiled. “Remember Jane Phillips? Of course I do. Scrawny -little thing—running all to legs and arms. She was a homely little brat, -wasn’t she?”</p> -<p>It was now Mamie’s turn to smile.</p> -<p>“I’m going to tell her what you said,” she threatened. “She’s lots -different from the girl you remember.”</p> -<p>They went into the parlour.</p> -<p>Jane Phillips stood by the piano. She turned as Kenneth and Mamie -entered the room, and came towards them, a smile on her face. Kenneth, -as he <span id="Page_76" class="pagenum">[76]</span> advanced towards -her, was frankly amazed at the transformation in the girl whom he had -not seen for nine years. Jane laughed.</p> -<p>“Don’t you know me, Kenneth? Or must I call you Dr. Harper now?”</p> -<p>“No, my name is still Kenneth⸺” he answered.</p> -<p>“Tell Jane what you called her a few minutes ago, or I will,” -interrupted Mamie. Kenneth looked embarrassed. Jane insisted on being -told, whereupon Mamie repeated Kenneth’s description of Jane as a -child.</p> -<p>Caught between the upper and nether millstones of the raillery of the -two girls, Kenneth tried to explain away his embarrassment, but they -gave him no peace.</p> -<p>“Let me explain,” he begged. “When I went away you were a scrawny -little thing, a regular tomboy and as mischievous as they make them. And -now you’re a—you’re—you’re” Jane laughed at his attempt, somewhat -lacking in fullness, to say what she had become with the passage of the -years.</p> -<p>“Whatever it is you are trying to say, I hope it’s something all -right you are calling me—though from your tone I’m not at all sure,” she -ended, letting a note of mock concern creep in her voice.</p> -<p>By this time Kenneth had somewhat recovered his composure. He entered -into the spirit of play himself by telling her his surprise had been due -to his finding her unchanged from the little girl he had once known, but -Jane laughed at his ineffectual efforts to answer Mamie’s and her -teasing. To change <span id="Page_77" class="pagenum">[77]</span> the -conversation, he demanded that she tell him all that she had been doing -since he saw her last.</p> -<p>“There isn’t much to tell,” she declared. “I went away soon after you -did, going to Fisk University, graduated last June, got a position -teaching in North Carolina, and am home for the holidays. Next year I -want to have enough money to go to Oberlin and finish my music. That’s -all there is to my little story. You are the one who has been having all -sorts of experiences. I want to hear your story.”</p> -<p>“Mine isn’t much longer,” answered Kenneth. “Four years of medical -school. A year’s interneship in New York at Bellevue. Three months in -training camps. A year and a half in France. Six months at the Sorbonne. -Then New York. Then exams at Atlanta for my licence. Home. And here I -am.”</p> -<p>“Don’t you believe him, Jane,” said Mamie.</p> -<p>“That’s just his way of telling it. Ken has had all sorts of exciting -experiences, yet he has come home and we can’t get him to talk about a -thing except building a practice and a hospital.”</p> -<p>“What do you want me to talk about?” asked Kenneth.</p> -<p>“Paris—school—army life what did you see?—how do you like New -York?—is New York as good a place to live in as Paris?”</p> -<p>Kenneth threw up his hands in mock defence at the barrage of -questions Jane and Mamie fired at him.</p> -<p><span id="Page_78" class="pagenum">[78]</span> “Just a minute—just a -minute,” he begged them. “I could talk all night on any one of the -questions you’ve asked and then not finish with it or tell you more than -half. If you two will only be quiet, I’ll tell you as much as I -can.”</p> -<p>Mrs. Harper, hearing the voices, came into the room. The three women -sat in silence as Kenneth told of his years at school, of his stay in -New York, his experiences in the army, of the beauties of Paris even in -war time, of study at a French university. He gave to the narrative a -vividness and air of reality that made his auditors see through his eyes -the scenes and experiences he was describing. Though none of them had -been in France, he made them feel as though they too were walking -through the Place de la Concorde viewing the statues to the eight great -cities of France or shopping in the Rue de la Paix or attempting to -order dinner in a restaurant with an all-too-inadequate French -vocabulary. He finished.</p> -<p>“Now you’ve got to sing for me, Jane, as a reward for all the talking -I’ve been doing.”</p> -<p>With the usual feminine protests that she had no music with her, Jane -went to the open piano. She inquired what he would like to have her -sing.</p> -<p>“Anything except the ‘Memphis Blues,’ which is all I’ve heard since I -came back to Central City,” he answered.</p> -<p>Jane ran over the keys experimentally, improvising. A floor lamp -stood near the piano casting a soft light over her. Her long, delicately -pointed fingers lingered lovingly on the ivory keys, and then she <span -id="Page_79" class="pagenum">[79]</span> played the opening bars of -Saint-Saën’s “My Heart at Thy Sweet Voice.” Her voice, a rounded, rich -contralto, showing considerable training, gave to the song a tender -pathos, a yearning, a promise of deep and understanding love. She sang -with a grace and clear phrasing that bespoke the simple charm of the -singer. Kenneth gazed at her in wonder at the amazing metamorphosis of -the shy, gawky child Jane whom he had only rarely noticed, and then with -the condescending air of twenty looking at twelve. In her stead had come -a woman, rounded, attractive even beautiful, intelligent, and altogether -desirable. The chrysalis had changed to the gorgeously coloured -butterfly. Her skin was a soft brown—almost bronze. He thought of -velvety pansies richly coloured—of the warmth of rubies of great price -of the lustrous beauty of the sky on a spring evening. Her eyes shone -with a sparkling and provocative clearness, looking straight at one from -their brown depths. Little tendrils of her black hair at the back of her -neck were disturbed every now and then by the breeze from the open -windows, while above were piled masses of coiled blackness that shone in -the dim light with a glossy lustre. To Kenneth came visions of a -soft-eyed <i>señorita</i> in an old Spanish town leaning from her -balcony while below, to the accompaniment of a muted guitar, her lover -sang to her of his ardent love. Kenneth blushed when he realized that in -every picture he had cast himself for the rôle of gallant -troubadour.</p> -<p>His mother had quietly slipped from the room to <span id="Page_80" -class="pagenum">[80]</span> retire for the evening. Mamie had gone to -prepare something cool for them to drink. Kenneth had not heard them go. -In fact, lost in the momentary forgetfulness created by Jane and the -song, he had completely forgotten them. He did not, however, fail to -realize that the dreams he was having were in large measure due to the -soft light, to surprise at the great changes in Jane, to the lulling -seductiveness of the music. He was sure that his feeling was due in -largest measure to a reaction from his unpleasant conversation with Roy -Ewing. He vaguely realized that when on the morrow he saw Jane by -daylight, she would not seem half so charming and attractive. Yet he was -of such a temperament that he could give himself up to the spell of the -moment and extract from it all the pleasure in it. It was in that manner -he put aside the things which were unpleasant, enabling him to shake off -memories like mists of the morning ascending from the depths of a -valley.</p> -<p>The song was ended. Herself caught in its spell, Jane swung into that -most beautiful of the Negro spirituals, “Deep River.” Into it she poured -her soul. She filled the room with the pathos of that song born in the -dark days of slavery of a people torn from their home and thrust into -the thraldom of human bondage.</p> -<p>And then Jane sang “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.” The song -ended, her fingers yet clung to the keys but her hands hung listless. -Kenneth knew not how or when he had risen from his chair and gone to the -piano where he stood behind Jane. <span id="Page_81" -class="pagenum">[81]</span> Something deep within them had been touched -by the music—a strange thrill filled them, making them oblivious to -everything except the presence of each other. Kenneth lightly placed his -hands on her shoulders. Without speaking or turning, she placed her -hands for a moment on his. He bent over her while she raised her face to -his, her eyes misty with tears born of the emotion aroused by the song. -Though often laughed at in real life and often distorted in fiction, -love almost at first sight had been born within them. Kenneth slowly -brought her face nearer his while Jane, with parted lips, let the back -of her head rest against his breast. Love, with its strange retroactive -effects, brought to both of them in that moment the sudden realization, -though neither of them had known it, that they had always loved each -other. Not a word had been spoken—each was busy constructing his love in -silence. A great emptiness in their lives had been suddenly, -miraculously filled.</p> -<p>Their lips were almost touching when a noise brought them to -themselves with a shock. It was Mamie. She entered the room bearing a -tray on which were sandwiches, cakes, and tall glasses in which cracked -ice clinked coolingly. Kenneth hid his annoyance and, with as nonchalant -an air as possible, went back to his chair.</p> -<p>When they had eaten, Jane rose to go. Kenneth walked home with her. -Neither spoke until they had reached her gate. Jane entered as Kenneth -held it open for her. He would have followed her in but she turned, -extended her hand to him as a sign of <span id="Page_82" -class="pagenum">[82]</span> dismissal, and asked him to leave her there. -Kenneth said nothing, but his face showed his disappointment at being -hastened away by the same girl who less than half an hour before had -almost been in his arms.</p> -<p>“Please don’t say anything, Ken,” she pleaded. “It was my fault—I -shouldn’t have done what I did. I used to worship you when I was little, -but I thought I had gotten over that—until to-night.”</p> -<p>Her voice sank almost to a whisper. In it was a note of trouble and -perplexity. She went on:</p> -<p>“I—oh, Kenneth—what happened to-night must not be repeated.”</p> -<p>Puzzled and a bit hurt, he asked her what she meant.</p> -<p>“Don’t get the wrong idea, Ken. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you -for the world.”</p> -<p>“But what is it, Jane?” begged Kenneth. “I love you, Jane, have -always loved you. I was blind—until to-night⸺”</p> -<p>Kenneth poured forth the words in a torrent of emotion. Whirling -thoughts tore through his brain. He sought to seize Jane’s hand and draw -her to him, but she eluded him.</p> -<p>“No—no—Kenneth, you mustn’t. I can’t let you make love to me. Let’s -be friends, Ken, and enjoy these few days and forget all we’ve said -to-night, won’t you, please?” she ended pleadingly.</p> -<p>Kenneth said nothing. He turned abruptly and strode away without even -saying good night. Hands thrust deep into his pockets, his head hanging -in dis<span id="Page_83" class="pagenum">[83]</span>appointment and -wounded pride, he hurried home without once turning to look back. …</p> -<p>Her ten days of vacation passed all too soon for Jane. She and -Kenneth saw each other frequently, but never alone until the night -before she returned to North Carolina. It was at a dance given in her -honour. All evening he had been seeking a dance with her, but met with -no success until the party was almost over. They danced in silence. Jane -seemed suddenly sad. All evening she had been happy, gay, even -flirtatious, but now that she was with Kenneth, her gaiety had been -dropped like a mask. Half-way through the dance they came near a door -that opened on a balcony overlooking a flower garden. Saying nothing to -Jane, Kenneth danced her through the door and on to the balcony, where -they sat on a bench that stood in the semi-darkness. Though it was -December, the air was warm. No sound disturbed the silence of the night -save the music and voices which floated through the open door.</p> -<p>“Haven’t you anything to say?” Kenneth anxiously inquired, taking one -of Jane’s hands in his.</p> -<p>“Nothing except this—I don’t know whether I care for you or not,” -said Jane as she freed her hand and drew herself away. Her voice was -firm and determined. Kenneth, ignorant of the ways of a maid with a man, -said nothing, but his shoulders drooped dejectedly.</p> -<p>“What happened the other night was madness—I was very foolish for -allowing it.” She paused, and <span id="Page_84" -class="pagenum">[84]</span> then went on. “Kenneth, I don’t know, I want -my music, I want to see something of life I want to live! I just can’t -tie myself down by marrying—I don’t know whether I’ll ever want to. -You’ll have to wait—if you care to⸺”</p> -<p>It was half command, half question. He said nothing.</p> -<p>He did not know how she longed for him to argue with her, override -her objections, convince her against her will. She waited a full minute. -Still he sat there silent. She rose and re-entered the house, leaving -him there alone.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_85" class="pagenum">[85]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER VI -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">L</span><span -class="smallcaps">ife</span> moved along evenly with Kenneth, busied -with the multitude of duties with which the physician in the half-rural, -half-urban towns of the South must deal. His days were filled with his -blasto work and he was usually to be found in his office until ten or -eleven o’clock every evening. Often he was roused in the middle of the -night to attend some one of his patients. He did not mind this except -when calls came to him from the outlying country districts. Not -infrequently he made long trips of seven, eight, or ten miles into the -country to treat some person who might just as well have called him -during the previous day. He had purchased a Ford runabout in which he -made these trips.</p> -<p>On a Sunday morning soon after his return to Central City, Kenneth -with his mother, Mamie, and Bob attended the Mount Zion Baptist Church, -but this he did without much eagerness, solely as a duty.</p> -<p>Though years had passed since last he entered the church, Kenneth -noticed that it stood as it always had, save that it looked more -down-at-heel than formerly. Before the door stood the same little -groups, eagerly snatching a few words of conversation before entering. -Near the door were ranged the young men, garbed in raiment of varied and -brilliant hue, <span id="Page_86" class="pagenum">[86]</span> ogling the -girls as they passed in with their parents. There was much good-natured -badinage and scuffling among the youths, with an occasional burst of -ribald laughter at the momentary discomfiture of one of their number. As -he passed them, Kenneth smiled to himself as he remembered how he but a -few years since had been one of that crowd around the same door. That -is, one of the crowd until his father, with a stern word or perhaps only -a meaningful glance, had been wont to summon him within the church. -Often had he been teased unmercifully by the other boys when one of -these summonses had come.</p> -<p>Though the jests had been hard to bear, the likelihood of paternal -wrath had been too unpleasant an alternative for him to dare disregard -his father’s commands.</p> -<p>Kenneth noticed the vestibule had survived the passage of years -without apparent change, if one disregarded the increased dinginess of -the carpet. There was the same glass-covered bulletin board with its -list of the sick and of those who were delinquent in the payment of -their dues. There was the same dangling rope with a loop at the end of -it, and the same sexton was about to ring the bell above, announcing the -beginning of the morning service. There were the same yellowed walls, -the same leather-covered swinging doors with the same greasy spots where -countless hands had pushed them to enter the auditorium of the church. -Kenneth smiled to himself as he remembered how he once had declared in a -dispute with a boy whose parents at<span id="Page_87" -class="pagenum">[87]</span>tended the Methodist church near by that the -Mount Zion Baptist Church was “the biggest and finest church in the -whole world.” He thought of the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, of -St. Paul’s in London, as he recalled the boast of his youth.</p> -<p>Inside, the same air of unchanging permanence seemed also to have -ruled. As he followed the officious usher and his mother and sister to -their pew, Kenneth noted the same rows of hard seats worn shiny by years -of use, the same choir loft to the left of the pulpit with its faded red -curtains. The same worn Bible lay open on the pulpit kept open by a -hymn-book. Beside it was the same ornately carved silver pitcher and -goblet. Kenneth felt as though he had never left Central City when he -looked for and found the patches of calcimine hanging from the ceiling -and the yellowed marks on the walls made by water dripping from leaks in -the roof. As a boy he had amused himself during seemingly interminable -sermons by constructing all sorts of fanciful stories around these same -marks, seeing in them weirdly shaped animals. Once he had laughed aloud -when, after gazing at one of them, it had suddenly dawned upon him that -the shadow cast by a pendent flake of calcimine resembled the lean and -hungry-looking preacher who was pastoring Mount Zion at the time. -Kenneth would never forget the commotion his sudden laughter had caused, -nor the whipping he received when he and his father reached home that -Sunday.</p> -<p>The hum of conversation ceased. The pastor, the <span id="Page_88" -class="pagenum">[88]</span> Reverend Ezekiel Wilson, entered the pulpit -from a little door back of it. The choir sang lustily the Doxology. All -the familiar services came back to Kenneth as he sat and looked at the -dusky faces around him.</p> -<p>Preliminaries ended, the Reverend Wilson began to preach. He was a -fat, pompous, oily man—with a smooth and unctuous manner. His voice sank -at times to a whisper—at others, roared until the rafters of the -building seemed to ring with its echoes. He played on it as consciously -as the dried-up little organist in the gaily coloured bonnet did on the -keys of the asthmatic little organ. His text was taken from the 13th -chapter of First Corinthians, first verse that familiar text, “Though I -speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am -become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.”</p> -<p>Slowly, softly, he began to speak.</p> -<p>“Breddern and sisters, they’s a lot of you folks right here this -mawnin’ what thinks you is Christ’uns. You think jus’ ‘cause you comes -here ev’ry Sunday and sings and shouts and rants around dat you is got -the sperit of Jesus in you. Well, I’m tellin’ you this mawnin’ dat you’d -better wake up and get yo’self right with God, ’cause you ain’t no mo -Christ’un dan if you neveh been to chu’ch a-tall. De Good Book says you -got to have char’ty, and de Good Book don’t lie.”</p> -<p>There came from the Amen corner a fervently shouted “Amen!” From -another came as equally <span id="Page_89" class="pagenum">[89]</span> -fervid a shout: “Ain’t it the truth!” The preacher paused for effect. He -mopped his brow and glared around the congregation. His auditors sat in -expectant silence. Suddenly he lashed out in scathing arraignment of the -sins of his flock. Each and every one of its faults he pilloried with -words of fire and brimstone. He painted a vivid and uncomfortably -realistic picture of a burning Hell into which all sinners would -inevitably be cast. Almost with the air of a hypnotist, he gradually -advanced the tempo of his speech. Like a wind playing over a field of -corn, swaying the tops of the stalks as it wills, so did he play on the -emotions and fears and passions of his congregation. Only a master of -human psychology could have done it. It was a living, breathing, -vengeful God he preached, and his auditors fearfully swayed and rocked -to and fro as he lashed them unmercifully. Lips compressed, there came -from them a nasal confirmation of the preacher’s words that ranged from -deep, guttural grunts of approval as he scored a point to a high-pitched -rising and falling moan that sounded like nothing so much as a child -blowing through tissue paper stretched over a comb. Frequently the -preacher would without perceptible pause swing into a rolling, swinging, -half-moaning song which the congregation took up with fervour. The beat -was steadily advanced by the leader until he and his audience were -worked up to an emotional ecstasy bordering on hysteria. His jeremiad -ended, the preacher painted a glowing <span id="Page_90" -class="pagenum">[90]</span> picture of the ineffable peace and joy that -came to those who rested their faith in Him who died for the remission -of their sins.</p> -<p>A tumultuous thunderous climax—a dramatic pause and then he swung -into a fervent prayer in which the preacher talked as though his God -were an intimate friend and confidant. The entire drama lasting more -than an hour was thrilling and enervating and theatric. Yet beneath it -lay a devout sincerity that removed the scene from the absurd to that -which bordered on the magnificent. To these humble folk their religion -was the most important thing in their lives, and, after all, what -matters it what a man does? It is the spirit in which he performs an act -that makes it dignified or pathetic or ludicrous—not the act itself.</p> -<p>In spite of his sophistication, Kenneth never was able entirely to -ward off the chills of excitement that ran down his spine at these weird -religious ceremonies. He saw through the whole theatric performance and -yet way down beneath it all there was a sincerity and genuineness that -never failed to impress him. This was not a mere animalism nor was it -the joke that white people sometimes tried to make of it. Fundamentally, -it was rooted and grounded in an immutable and unfailing belief in the -supreme power of a tangible God—a God that personally directed the most -minute of the affairs of the most lowly of creatures. It had been the -guide and refuge of the fathers and mothers of these same people through -the dark days of slavery. In the same man<span id="Page_91" -class="pagenum">[91]</span>ner it was almost the only refuge for these -children and grandchildren of the slaves in withstanding the trials of a -latter-day slavery in many respects more oppressive than the pre-Civil -War variety.</p> -<p>Kenneth walked home from church running over these things in his -mind. Was this religious fervour the best thing for his people? Why did -not the Church attract more intelligent and able young men of his race -instead of men like Reverend Wilson? Why didn’t some twentieth-century -Moses arise to lead them out of the thraldom of this primitive religion? -Would that Moses, when he came, be able to offer a solace as effective -to enable these people of his to bear the burdens that lay so heavily -upon them?</p> -<p>He thought again of his conversation with Roy Ewing. What was the -elusive solution to this problem of race in America? Why couldn’t the -white people of the South see where their course was leading them? Ewing -was right. No white man of the South had ever come out in complete -defiance of the present regime which was so surely damning the South and -America. Kenneth saw his people kept in the bondage of ignorance. Why? -Because it was to the economic advantage of the white South to have it -so. Why was a man like Reverend Wilson patted on the back and every -Negro told that men of his kind were “safe and sane leaders”? Why was -every Negro who too audibly or visibly resented the brutalities and -proscriptions of race prejudice instantly labelled as a radical—a -dangerous character<span id="Page_92" class="pagenum">[92]</span>—as one -seeking “social equality”? What was this thing called “social equality” -anyhow? That was an easy question to answer. It was about the only one -he could answer with any completeness. White folks didn’t really believe -that Negroes sought to force themselves in places where they weren’t -wanted, any more than decent white people wanted to force themselves -where they were not invited. No, that was the smoke-screen to hide -something more sinister. Social equality would lead to intermarriage, -they thought, and the legitimatizing of the countless half-coloured sons -and daughters of these white people. Why, if every child in the South -were a legitimate one, more than half of the land and property in the -South would belong to coloured owners.</p> -<p>Did the white people who were always talking about “social equality” -think they really were fooling anybody with their constant denunciation -of it? Twenty-nine States of America had laws against intermarriage. All -these laws were passed by white legislators. Were these laws passed to -keep Negroes from seizing some white woman and forcing her to marry him -against her will? Or were these laws unconscious admissions by these -white men that they didn’t trust their women or their men to keep from -marrying Negroes? Any fool knew that if two people didn’t want to marry -each other, there was no law of God or man to make them marry. No, the -laws were passed because white men wanted to have their own women and -use coloured women too without any law <span id="Page_93" -class="pagenum">[93]</span> interfering with their affairs or making -them responsible for the consequences.</p> -<p>Kenneth usually ended these arguments with himself with a feeling of -complete impotence, of travelling around like a squirrel in a circular -cage. No matter where he started or how fast or how far he travelled, he -always wound up at the same point and with the same sense of blind -defeat. Oh, well, better men than he had tried to answer the same -questions and failed. He’d stay to himself and attend to his own -business and let such problems go hang. But in spite of himself he often -found himself enmeshed in this endless maze of reasoning. Just as -frequently he determined to put from himself again the perplexing and -seemingly insoluble problems.</p> -<p>It was after one of these soliloquies on his way from church one -bright Sunday in April that Kenneth reached home and found a call for -him to come at once to a house down on Butler Street, in the heart of -the Negro district in the bottoms. Telling his mother to keep dinner for -him as he would be back shortly, he hurried down State Street. Turning -suddenly into Harris Street, which crossed State, which in turn would -lead him to the house he sought on Butler Street, he caught a fleeting -glimpse of a white man who looked like George Parker, cashier of the -Bank of Central City Parker, if it was he, turned hastily at Kenneth’s -approach and went up a narrow alley which ran off Harris Street. Kenneth -thought nothing of the incident other than a vague <span id="Page_94" -class="pagenum">[94]</span> and quickly passing wonder at Parker’s -presence in that part of town.</p> -<p>Kenneth hurried on, instinctively stepping over or around the -numerous children whose complexions ranged in colour from a deep black -to a yellow that was almost white, and mangy-looking dogs that seemed to -infest the street. Approaching the house he sought, he found a group of -excitedly talking Negroes gathered around the gate. The group separated -to let him pass, and from it came one or two greetings to Kenneth in the -form of “Hello, Doc.” He paid little attention to them, but proceeded up -the path to the house.</p> -<p>Entering, he was surprised to find it furnished more ornately and -comfortably than usual in that section. He knew the place of old, -remembering that his father had always warned him against going into -this section. Here it was reported that strange things went on, that a -raid by the police was not uncommon. He had upon one occasion seen the -patrol wagon, better known as the “Black Maria,” drive away loaded with -bottles of whisky and with a nondescript lot of coloured men and women. -Most of the property in this section was owned by white people, which -they held on to jealously. They charged and received rentals two or -three times as high as in other sections of “Darktown.”</p> -<p>Kenneth found in the front room another excited and chattering lot of -men and women. The men seemed rather furtive and were dressed in -“peg-top” trousers with wide cuffs, and gaudily coloured shirts. <span -id="Page_95" class="pagenum">[95]</span> The women were clad in red and -pink kimonos and boudoir caps. With an inclusive “Hello, folks,” Kenneth -followed a woman who seemed to be in charge of the house into the next -room. In the centre of the darkened room there stood the bed, -dishevelled, the sheets stained with blood. On them lay a man fully -clothed, his eyes closed as though in great pain, and breathing heavily, -with sharp gasps every few seconds. By the bed, bathing the man’s brow, -stood a woman in a rumpled night-dress and kimono. Kenneth recognized -the man as Bud Ware, sometimes a Pullman porter, who used his -occupation, it was rumoured, to bring liquor from Atlanta, which his -wife sold. It was his wife Nancy who bathed his brow and who moved away -from the bed when Kenneth approached. She informed him that he had come -home unexpectedly from his run, and had been shot. Kenneth said nothing -but went immediately to work. He found Bud with two bullet holes in his -abdomen and one through his right leg. It was evident that he had but a -few hours, at most, to live. Kenneth did what he could to relieve Bud’s -suffering. Turning to Nancy, he told her what he had discovered. She -stared at Kenneth wide-eyed for a minute and then burst forth in an -agony of weeping.</p> -<p>“Oh, Lawdy, why didn’t I do what Bud tol’ me to do? Bud tol’ me to -let dat man alone! Why didn’t I do it? Why didn’t I do it?”</p> -<p>Her screams mounted higher and higher until they reached ear-piercing -shrieks. A head or two were <span id="Page_96" -class="pagenum">[96]</span> stuck interrogatively through the opened -door at the sound of Nancy’s woe, and as quickly withdrawn. Kenneth -administered an opiate to Bud to relieve his pain and sat by the bed to -do what he could in the short while that life remained. The sordidness -of the whole affair sickened him and he longed to get away where he -could breathe freely.</p> -<p>Strengthened by the opiate, Bud’s eyes flickered and then opened for -a fraction of a minute. He smiled faintly when he recognized Kenneth. He -made several ineffectual attempts to speak, but each effort resulted -only in a gasp of pain. Kenneth ordered him to lie still. Bud, however, -kept trying to speak. Roused by Nancy’s shrieks, he finally managed to -gasp out a few words, interrupted by spasms of pain that shook his whole -body.</p> -<p>“I knows I ain’t got long, Doc. Dat’s a’ right, Nancy, I ain’t -blamin’ you none. I knows you couldn’t he’p it.”</p> -<p>He fell back on the pillow, coughing and writhing in pain.</p> -<p>“Lif’ me a li’l—hiar—on the pillar, Doc. Dat’s mo’ like—it! Doc—I -ain’t been much ‘count. I tol’ dat man Parker—to stop foolin’ with my -’oman—but—he keep on—comin’ here—when I’m gone. He knew I wuz sellin’ -liquor—an’ he tol Nancy he wuz gwine—hav’ his brudder—She’f Parker put -me on—chain gang—if she tell me he come here—w’en I wuz gone.”</p> -<p>He had another paroxysm of coughing and lay for a minute as though -already dead. Kenneth adminis<span id="Page_97" -class="pagenum">[97]</span>tered restoratives, meanwhile telling Nancy -to keep quiet, which only made her weep the louder. After a few minutes -Bud began speaking again.</p> -<p>“I come home to-day—an’ kotched him here. W’en I got mad an’ tol -him—to get out—and stahted towards him—he grabbed his gun an’—shot me.” -After a pause: “Doc, whyn’t dese white fo’ks—leave our women alone?—I -ain’t nevah bothered none of their women.—An’ now—I’s done got—killed -jus’ ’cause—I—I⸺”</p> -<p>He half raised himself on the pillow, looking at Nancy.</p> -<p>“Doan cry, Nancy gal—doan cry⸺”</p> -<p>He fell back dead. Kenneth, of no further assistance, left Nancy to -her grief after promising to send the undertaker in to prepare Bud’s -body for burial, and made his way out through the crowd, now greatly -increased in numbers, gathered around the door. He wondered if anything -would be done about the murder, at the same time knowing that nothing -would. The South says it believes in purity. What was that phrase the Ku -Kluxers used so much—“preservation of the sanctity of the home, -protection of the purity of womanhood”? Yes, that was it. Suppose the -races of the two principals had been reversed—that Bud Ware had been -caught with George Parker’s wife. Why, the whole town would have turned -out to burn Bud at the stake. Weren’t coloured women considered -human—wasn’t their virtue as dear to them as to white women? Nancy and -Bud weren’t of much good to the community <span id="Page_98" -class="pagenum">[98]</span> but if Bud wanted his wife kept inviolate, -hadn’t he as much right to guard her person as George Parker to protect -his wife and two daughters? Again he felt himself up against a blind -wall in which there was no gate, and which was too high to climb. He had -determined to stay out of reach of the long arms of the octopus they -called the race problem—but he felt himself slowly being drawn into its -insidious embrace.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_99" class="pagenum">[99]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER VII -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">C</span><span class="smallcaps">entral -City</span> was the county seat of Smith County. The morning after the -murder of Bud Ware, Kenneth went down to the County Court House to file -his report on the death. It was a two-story building, originally of red -brick but now of a faded brownish red through the rains and sun of many -years. It sat back from the street about fifty feet and was surrounded -by a yard covered here and there with bits of grass but for the most -part clear of all vegetation, its red soil trampled by many feet on -“co’t day.” The steps were worn thin through much wear of heavy boots. -On either side of the small landing at the top, there hung a bulletin -board on which were pasted or tacked yellow notices of sheriff’s sales, -rewards for the arrest of criminals, and other court documents. The -floor of the dark and narrow hallway was stained a reddish colour by the -mud and dust from the feet of those who had entered the building. Just -inside the doorway, on either side, were rectangular boxes filled with -sawdust for the convenience of those of a tobacco-chewing disposition, -which included most of the male population. The condition of the floor -around the boxes seemed to indicate that only a few of these had -realized for what purpose the boxes had been <span id="Page_100" -class="pagenum">[100]</span> placed there. Over all was a liberal -coating of the dust that had blown in the door and windows.</p> -<p>Entering the office of the County Health Commissioner, Kenneth found -that dignitary in his shirtsleeves, feet comfortably placed on top of -his desk.</p> -<p>“Good morning, Mr. Lane. I’ve come to make a report of a death.”</p> -<p>At the sound of Kenneth’s voice, County Commissioner of Health Henry -Lane turned in his chair without moving his feet to see who it was that -had entered. Long, lanky, a two days’ growth of red beard on his face, -Mr. Lane removed the corn-cob pipe from his mouth with a rising and -falling of a prominent Adam’s apple. Seeing that his visitor was only a -Negro, he replaced his pipe in his mouth and, between several jerky -puffs to get it going again, querulously replied:</p> -<p>“Can’t you see I’m busy? Why don’t you save up them repo’ts till you -git a passel of them, and then bring ‘em in? Got no time t’ be writin’ -up niggers’ deaths, anyhow. Ev’ry time I turn ‘round, some nigger’s -gittin’ carved up or shot or somepin’.”.</p> -<p>“I understand it’s the law, Mr. Lane, that deaths of anybody, white -or coloured, must be reported by the physician at once.”</p> -<p>“Drat the law. That’s fo’ white folks.”</p> -<p>He drew himself out of his chair with great reluctance and ambled -over to the counter, drawing to him a pad and pencil as he turned -towards Kenneth.</p> -<p>“What nigger’s dead now?” he inquired. <span id="Page_101" -class="pagenum">[101]</span></p> -<p>“Bud Ware, who lived at 79 Butler Street,” replied Kenneth.</p> -<p>“How’d he die?” was the next question.</p> -<p>“Shot through the abdomen.”</p> -<p>“Know who shot him?”</p> -<p>“Yes. George Parker.”</p> -<p>“Th’ hell you say! And you come in here to repo’t it?”</p> -<p>Kenneth was somewhat startled at the ferocity of the Commissioner’s -expression, which had replaced that of laziness and resentment at being -disturbed. “I thought it my duty …” he began.</p> -<p>Lane spat disgustedly.</p> -<p>“Duty, Hell! You’re a God-damned fool and one of these damned niggers -that’s always causin’ trouble ‘round here. I always said eddication -spoiled a nigger and, by God, you prove it. Lemme tell you -somepin’—you’d better remember s’long’s you stay ‘round these parts. -When you hear anything ’bout a white man havin’ trouble with a nigger, -you’d better keep your mouth shet. They’s lots of niggers been lynched -for less’n you said this mornin’. Ain’t you got sense enough t’ know you -hadn’t any business comin’ in here t’ tell me ‘bout Mr. Parker? Don’t -you know his brother’s sheriff? If y’ aint, goin’ up No’th tuk away what -li’l’ sense you might’ve had befo’ you went.”</p> -<p>Kenneth stood silent, a deep red flush suffusing his face, while the -official continued his vituperative tirade. His fists, thrust deep into -his pockets, were Elenched until they hurt, but he did not feel the -pain. <span id="Page_102" class="pagenum">[102]</span> He longed to take -that long, yellow, unshaven neck in his hands and twist it until Lane’s -eyes popped out and his face turned black. He knew it would be suicide -if he did it. He realized now that he had done an unwise thing in -telling Lane who had killed Bud Ware—he should have remembered and said -that he did not know. If he was going to stay in the South, he would -have to remember these things.</p> -<p>When Lane had paused for breath, Kenneth bade him good morning and -left the room. As he went down the steps, he heard Lane shouting after -him:</p> -<p>“You’d better not lemme hear o’you doin’ any talkin’ ‘bout this. If -y’ do, you’ll fin’ yo’self bein’ paid a visit one o’ these nights by the -Kluxers!”</p> -<p>Hardly had Kenneth left the court house before Lane rushed as fast as -his natural indolence would permit him into the office of Sheriff Robert -Parker—known throughout the county as “She’f Bob.” Lane was so indignant -he spluttered in trying to speak. The sheriff looked at him amusedly and -counselled:</p> -<p>“Ca’m yo’self, Henry. What’s eatin’ you?”</p> -<p>“Bob, d’you know George shot and killed a nigger buck over in -‘Darktown’ yestiddy mornin’ named Ware?” Lane finally managed to get -out.</p> -<p>“Yeh. What about it? George tol me about it las’ night,” was the -sheriff’s easy reply.</p> -<p>“Well, that nigger doctor Harper who’s been up No’th studyin’ and -come back here las’ fall, come into my office this mornin’ to repo’t it, -and he had the gall t’ tell me George done it.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_103" class="pagenum">[103]</span> “Th’ black bastard! -What th’ hell’s he got to do with it?”</p> -<p>“Said it was his duty. You bet I tol him good an’ plenty where he got -off at. Guess he won’t come in here repo’tin’ no more ‘accidents’ like -George run into.”</p> -<p>Sheriff Parker’s face had assumed the colour of an overripe tomato as -he jumped to his feet and banged his right fist on the table with a -resounding thwack.</p> -<p>“I’ll keep my eye on that nigger,” he promised. “His daddy was as -good a nigger as ever I did see, but they ain’t no way o’tellin’ what -these young bucks’ll do. Roy Ewing was saying only this mornin’ that -Bob, that nigger doctor’s kid brother, was tellin’ him the other day -that he’d have to stop them boys ‘roun’ the sto’ from botherin’ with th’ -nigger gals when they pass by. Humph! They ain’t no nigger gal that’s -pure after she’s reached fo’teen years ol’. Yep, I’ll jus’ kep my eye on -those boys, and the first chance I git, I’ll⸺!”</p> -<p>His eyes narrowed in malevolent fashion as he left his threat -unuttered.</p> -<p>In the meantime, Kenneth had gone home. He hesitated to talk the -matter over with Bob or tell him what had happened to Bud Ware or what -had taken place at the court house that morning. Bob was so hot-headed -and insults made him angry so easily, he was afraid of what might be the -outcome if Bob knew what had occurred. He would breathe a deep sigh of -relief when Bob left in the fall to go back to <span id="Page_104" -class="pagenum">[104]</span>er school. Up in Atlanta there wouldn’t be -so many chances for Bob to run up against these white people and, -besides, Bob’s studies would keep him busy, leaving little time to brood -over the indignities he had suffered. Kenneth determined that when Bob -had finished his course at Atlanta University, he would urge him to go -to Columbia University or Haryard and study law, and then settle down in -some Northern city. It wouldn’t do for Bob to come back as he had done -to Central City. Sooner or later Bob’s fiery temper would give way.</p> -<p>He wondered to whom he could turn to talk this thing out. He felt -that if he didn’t have a chance soon to unburden his soul to somebody, -he would go insane. He thought of his mother. No, that wouldn’t do. His -mother had enough to worry about without taking his burdens on her -shoulders.</p> -<p>Mamie? No, she wouldn’t do either. She had no business knowing about -the sordidness of the affair of Bud Ware and Nancy and George Parker. -All her life she had been sheltered and kept away, as much as is -possible in a Southern town, from the viciousness and filth and -brutality of the race relations of the town.</p> -<p>Mr. Wilson, the clergyman? He was ignorant and coarse, but he had -lived in South Georgia all his life and he would know better what to do -than anybody else. He determined to go and talk with Mr. Wilson that -evening as soon as he was free. He had hardly made the decision when -Mr. Wilson <span id="Page_105" class="pagenum">[105]</span>non himself -entered the reception room and called out to Kenneth as he sat in his -office:</p> -<p>“Good mawnin’, Brudder Harper. It certainly has done my heart good to -see you attendin’ chu’ch ev’ry Sunday with your folks. Mos’ of these -young men and women, as soon’s they get some learning, thinks they’s too -good to ‘tend chu’ch. But, as I says to them all th’ time, th’ Lawd -ain’t goin’ t’ bless none of them, even if they is educated, if they -don’t keep close to Him.”</p> -<p>Kenneth rose and showed his visitor to a seat. He did so with an -inward repugnance as the coarseness of the man repelled him. Mr. Wilson -seemed always overheated even in the coldest weather, and his face shone -with a greasiness that seemed to indicate that his body excreted oil -instead of perspiration. Yet, perhaps this man could give him some ray -of no light, if there was any to be had.</p> -<p>He told Mr. Wilson of his experiences of the past two days. The -preacher’s eyes widened with a mild surprise and the unctuous, -benevolent mask which he wore most of his waking hours seemed to drop -rapidly as he heard Kenneth through to the end without comment. At the -same time he dropped his illiterate speech much to Kenneth’s surprise, -when he finally spoke.</p> -<p>“Dr. Harper, I’ve been watching you since you came back here. I knew -that you were trying to keep away from this trouble that’s always going -on around here. That’s just why I came here to-day. <span id="Page_106" -class="pagenum">[106]</span> Your case is a hard one, but it’s small to -what a lot of these others are feeling. I have asked a number of the -more sensible coloured men to meet at any house to-night. I think it -would be a good thing to talk over these things and try to find a way to -avoid any trouble.”</p> -<p>Kenneth looked at him in surprise, not at the idea of holding a -meeting, but at the language the man was using.</p> -<p>“I hope you’ll pardon me for asking so personal a question, Reverend -Wilson, but you don’t talk now as I’ve always heard you before. Why, -your language now is that of an educated man, and before you—you—talked -like a—like a⸺”</p> -<p>Mr. Wilson laughed easily.</p> -<p>“There’s a reason—in fact, there are two reasons why I talk like -that. The first is because of my own folks. Outside of you and your -folks, the Phil. lips family, and one or two more, all of my -congregation is made up of folks with little or no education. They’ve -all got good hard common sense, it’s true. They’d have to have that in -order just to live in the South with things as they are. But they don’t -want a preacher that’s too far above them they’ll feel that they can’t -come to him and tell him their troubles if he’s too highfalutin. I try -to get right down to my folks, feel as they feel, suffer when they -suffer, laugh with them when they laugh, and talk with them in language -they can understand.”</p> -<p>Mr. Wilson smiled, almost to himself, as memories of contacts with -his lowly flock came to him.</p> -<p><span id="Page_107" class="pagenum">[107]</span> “I remember when I -first started preaching over at Valdosta. I was just out of school and -was filled up with the ambition to raise my people out of their -ignorance. I was determined I would free them from a religion that -didn’t do anything for them but make them shout and holler on Sunday. I -was going to give them some modern religion based on intelligence -instead of just on feeling and emotion.”</p> -<p>He chuckled throatily in recollecting the spiritual and religious -crusade on which he had based such exalted hopes.</p> -<p>“I preached to them and told them of Aristotle and Shakespeare and -Socrates. One Sunday, after I’d preached what I thought was a mighty -fine sermon, one old woman came up after the services and said to me: -“Brer Wilson, dat’s a’ right tellin’ us ‘bout Shakespeare and Homer and -all dem other boys. But what we want is for you t’ tell us somethin’ -‘bout Jesus!’”</p> -<p>Kenneth laughed with the preacher at the old woman’s insistence on -his not straying from the religion to which they were used.</p> -<p>“I had to discard my high-flown theories and come down to my folks if -I wanted to do any good at all.”</p> -<p>He continued:</p> -<p>“These same folks, however, don’t want you to come down too close. -Like all people with little education, whether they’re black, white, or -any other colour, they like to look up to their leaders. So I use a few -big words now and then which have a grand and rolling sound, and they -feel that I am even more <span id="Page_108" -class="pagenum">[108]</span> wonderful because I do know how to use big -words but don’t use them often.”</p> -<p>He paused while Kenneth looked at this man and saw him in a new -light. He had known that Mr. Wilson, many years before coming to Central -City, had attended a theological seminary in Atlanta, and he had -wondered how a man could attend a school of theology of any standing and -yet use such poor English. It had never occurred to him that it might be -deliberate.</p> -<p>“And then there’s another reason,” continued Reverend Wilson. “The -white folks here are mighty suspicious of any Negro who has too much -learning, according to their standards. They figure he’ll be stirring up -the Negroes to fighting back when any trouble arises. I had to make a -decision many years ago. I decided that somebody had to help these poor -coloured folks bear their burdens, and to comfort and cheer them. I knew -that if I came out and said the things I thought and felt, I would -either be taken out of my house some night and lynched, or else I’d be -run out of town. So I decided that I’d smile and bear it and be what the -white folks think they want—what the coloured folks call a ‘white man’s -nigger.’ It’s been mighty hard, but the Lord has given me the strength -somehow or other to stand it this far.”</p> -<p>With his deliberately imperfect English, there had gone from the -preacher’s face the subservient smile. Kenneth felt his heart warming to -this man. He found his feeling of distaste and repulsion dissipat<span -id="Page_109" class="pagenum">[109]</span>ing, now that the shell had -been removed and he saw beneath the surface. The simile of the -protective device of the chameleon came to his mind. Yes, the Negro in -the South had many things in common with the chameleon—he had to be able -to change his colour figuratively to suit the environment of the South -in order to be allowed to stay alive. His own trouble with the Parkers -and Lane seemed much more trivial now than before. He looked at -Mr. Wilson and asked:</p> -<p>“What’s the purpose of this meeting to-night? How can I help, -Reverend Wilson?”</p> -<p>“It’s like this. A good part of my congregation is made up of folks -who live out in the country. They’ve had a lot of trouble for years -getting honest settlements from the landlords on whose land they work. -Within the last five years, two of my members have been lynched when -they wouldn’t stand for being cheated any longer. The folks out there -are in a pretty bad way, and they want us to advise with them as to the -best way to act. I haven’t time to go into the details now, but it’ll -all be taken up to-night. Can I count on your being there? We need a man -like you, with your education.”</p> -<p>Kenneth deliberated several minutes before giving his answer. What -Mr. Wilson wanted him to do was just exactly what he had determined not -to do. But what harm could come from attending the meeting? If he didn’t -want to take any part in the plans, he didn’t have to. Anyhow, it seemed -that the more a man tried to keep away from the race question, the <span -id="Page_110" class="pagenum">[110]</span>mo more deeply involved he -became in it. Might as well do what little he could to help, if he -didn’t have to take too prominent a part. He’d go anyway. He told -Reverend Wilson they could look for him that night.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_111" class="pagenum">[111]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER VIII -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">K</span><span -class="smallcaps">enneth</span> was late in reaching the meeting-place -that night. When he arrived he found all there waiting for him. Besides -himself and Mr. Wilson were the Reverend Richard Young, pastor of Bethel -African Methodist Episcopal Church, and Herbert Phillips, Jane’s father. -There were also three men from the farming district whom Kenneth did not -know, but who were introduced as Tom Tracy, Hiram Tucker, and James -Swann.</p> -<p>Mr. Wilson opened the meeting after the introductions had been -completed.</p> -<p>“Brothers, we’ve met here this evenin’ to talk over some way we can -he’p these brothers who live out in the country and who ain’t been able -to get an honest settlement from the folks they’s been farmin’ for. I’m -going to ask Brother Tucker to tell us just how things are with the -folks out his way. Brother Tucker.”</p> -<p>“Brother” Tucker rose and stood by the table around which they were -seated and on which flickered an oil lamp. He was a man between fifty -and sixty years of age, of medium height and thick-set. His black skin -was wrinkled with age and toil. His hands, as they rested on the table -in front of him, were gnarled and hardened through a lifetime of <span -id="Page_112" class="pagenum">[112]</span> ploughing and hoeing and the -other hard work of farm life. It was Mr. Tucker’s face, however, which -attracted interest. Out of the rolls of skin there shone two kindly, -docile eyes. One gained the impression that these eyes had seen -tragedies on top of tragedies, as indeed they had, and their owner had -been taught by dire necessity to look upon them in a philosophic and -pacifist manner. One remembered a biblical description: “He was a man of -sorrows and acquainted with grief.” Kenneth, as he looked at him, felt -that Socrates and Aristotle and Jesus Christ must have had eyes like -Brother Tucker’s. His impression was heightened by Mr. Tucker’s hair. Of -a snowy whiteness, his head bald on top, his hair formed a circle around -his head that reminded Kenneth of the picture-cards used at Sunday -school when he was a boy, where the saints had crowns of light hovering -over their heads. The only difference was that Mr. Tucker’s halo seemed -to be a bit more firmly and closely attached than those of the saints, -which he remembered always seemed to be poised perilously in mid-air. He -had often wondered, as he gazed intently at the pictures, what would -have happened had a strong gust of wind come suddenly upon the saints, -and blown their haloes away.</p> -<p>Mr. Tucker began speaking slowly, in the manner of one of few words -and as one unused to talking in public.</p> -<p>“Brudders, me ‘n’ Brudder Tracy, and Brudder Swann ast Reverend -Wilson here to let us come t’ <span id="Page_113" -class="pagenum">[113]</span> town some time and talk over with you -gent’men a li’l’ trouble we’s been havin’. Y’ see, all of us folks out -dat way wuks on shares like dis. We makes a ‘greement wif de landlord to -wuk one year or mo’. He fu’nishes de lan’ and we puts de crap in de -soil, wuks it, and den gathers it. We’s sposed to ‘vide it share and -share alike wif de landlord but it doan wuk out dat way. If us cullud -folks ain’t got money enough to buy our seed and fert’lizer and food and -the clo’es we needs du’in’ de year, we is allowed t’ take up dese things -at de sto’. Den when we goes to settle up after de cott’n and cawn’s -done laid by, de sto’ man who wuks in wif de landlord won’t giv’ us no -bill for whut we done bought but jes’ gives us a li’l piece of paper wif -de words on it: “Balance Due.”</p> -<p>He paused to wipe the perspiration from his face caused by the -unusual experience of speaking at such length. He continued:</p> -<p>“An’ dat ain’t all. W’en we starts to pickin’ our cotton, dey doan -let us ca’y it to de gin and weigh it ourself. De lan’lord send his -wagons down in de fiel’ and as fas’ as we picks it, dey loads it on de -wagons and takes it away. Dey doan let us know how much it weighs or how -much dey sells it for. Dey jus’ tells us it weighs any ‘mount de -lan’lord wants to tell us, and dey says dey sol’ it at any price dey -set. W’en we comes to settle up for de year, dey ‘ducts de balance due’ -from what we’s got comin’ t’us from our share of de craps. I’s been -wukin’ for nigh on to six years for Mr. Taylor out near <span -id="Page_114" class="pagenum">[114]</span> Ashland and ev’y year I goes -deeper in debt dan de year befo’. Las’ year I raised mo’ dan twenty-fo’ -bales of cott’n dat weighed mo’ dan five hundred poun’s each. My boy Tom -whut’s been t’ school figgered out dat at eighten cents a poun’—and -dat’s de price de paper said cott’n sol’ at las’ year—I oughter got mo’ -dan a thousan’ dollars for my share. An’ dat ain’t all neither. Dey was -nearly twelve tons of cott’n seed dat was wuth ‘bout two hundred and -fo’ty dollars. An’den dey was mo’ dan three hundred bush’ls of cawn at a -dollar’n a ha’f a bush’l dat makes fo’ hundred and fifty dollars mo’. -All dat t’gether makes nearly three thousan’ dollars an’ I oughter got -‘bout fifteen hundred dollars fo’ my share.”</p> -<p>Tucker stopped again and shifted his feet while Tracy and Swann -nodded agreement with his statements.</p> -<p>“Las’ year me ‘n’ my wife said we wuz gwine t’ get along without -spendin’ no mo’ money at de sto’ dan we had to, so’s we could get out of -debt. We wukked ha’d and all our chillen we made wuk in de fiel’s too. -My boy Tom kept account of ev’ything we bought at de sto’, and when de -year ended he figgered it up an’ he foun’ we’d done spent jus’ even fo’ -hundred dollars. But when we goes to make a settlement at de end of de -year, Mr. Taylor said he sol our cott’n at eight cent a poun’ and -didn’have but sev’n hundred and thutty-five dollars comin’ to us. An’ -den he claim we tuk up ‘leven hundred dollars wuth of stuff at de sto’ -which he done paid for, <span id="Page_115" class="pagenum">[115]</span> -so that leave me owin’ him three hundred ‘n’ sixty-five dollars dat I -got to wuk out next year.”</p> -<p>His face took on a dejected look as though the load had become almost -too heavy to bear. His voice took on at the same time a plaintive and -discouraged tone.</p> -<p>“An’ when you adds on dat three hundred dollars dat Mr. Taylor says I -owed him from las’ year, dat makes neah’ly sev’n hundred dollars I owes, -and it doan look like I’s evah goin’t git out of debt. An’ I thought we -wuz goin’ to be able to sen’ Tom and Sally and Mirandy t’ Tuskegee dis -year off de ‘leven hundred dollars I thought I wuz gwine t’ make.”</p> -<p>The discouraged air changed to one of greater courage and -determination. His voice rose in his resentment and excitement.</p> -<p>“Now I’s tiahed of all dis cheatin’ an’ lyin’! Mr. Taylor mus’ take -me for a fool if he thinks I’m gwine stan’ for dis way of doin’ things -all de time. I stahted to tell him dat I knew he wuz cheatin’ me in -Janua’y w’en he give me dat statemen’, but den I ‘membered whut happen -t’ Joe Todd two years ago w’en he tol’ dat ol’ man Stanton dat he wukked -for, de same thing. W’en ol’ man stahted thit Joe, Joe hit him fust and -run. Dey came one night and call Joe to his do’ and tuk him down in de -swamp an’ de nex’ mawnin’ dey foun’ Joe full of bullets, hangin’ to a -tree. De paper say Joe done spoke insultin’ to a white ‘oman, but all de -cullud folks, an’ de white too, know dat Joe ain’t nevah even seen no -white ’oman dat day. Dey knew dat if dey say he ‘sulted <span -id="Page_116" class="pagenum">[116]</span> a white ’oman, de folks up -Nawth won’t crit’cize dem for lynchin’ a nigger down here in Georgy. So -I jus’ kep’ my mouth close’. Now we wants t’ know if dey ain’t somethin’ -we c’n do t’ make dese white folks we wuks for stop cheatin’ an’ robbin’ -us po’ cullud folks.”</p> -<p>He sat down, evidently greatly relieved at finishing a task so -arduous. Kenneth had listened in amazement to the story of exploitation, -crudely told, yet with a simplicity that was convincing and eloquent. -Having lived in the South all his life, he naturally was not unaware of -the abuses under the “share-cropping” or “tenant-farming” system in the -South, but it had never been brought home to him so forcefully how close -at hand and how oppressive and dishonest the system really was. No -wonder the South lynched, disfranchised, Jim-Crowed the Negro, he -reflected. If the Negro had a yote and a voice in the local government -of affairs, most of these bankers and merchants and landowners would -have to go to work for the first time in their lives instead of waxing -fat on the toil of humble Negroes like Hiram Tucker. He turned to Tucker -to get further information on the system.</p> -<p>“Mr. Tucker, have you and the other folks like you ever thought of -trying to get loans from the Federal Government through the banks they -have established to aid farmers in buying land and raising their -crops?”</p> -<p>“Oh, yes, Doc. Soon’s they started lendin’ money to farmers, I ’plied -for a loan to buy me a li’l’ place <span id="Page_117" -class="pagenum">[117]</span> dat I wuz gwine t’ wuk an’ pay for off whut -I raised. But dey tol’ me dey didn’ have no funds t’ lento niggers an’ -dat dey already done loaned all dey had to de white farmers. W’en I ast -dem to put my name down on de lis’ to get a loan when some mo’ money -came in, dey tol me dat it wa’n’t no use ‘cause dey already had so many -white folks’ names down on de lis’ dat dey nevah would come to de cullud -folks.”</p> -<p>“Did you think about writing to Washington and telling them that they -were discriminating against Negro farmers?” questioned Kenneth.</p> -<p>“Yas, suh, we done dat too. But dey wrote us back dat de onliest way -any loan could be made was th’u’ de local agents, so dat didn’t come to -nuthin’.”</p> -<p>“But, good Lord, they can’t discriminate in that way against you -without something being done about it!” was Kenneth’s indignant -comment.</p> -<p>Tucker looked at him with a wan smile that was almost pitying at the -ignorance of the younger man. His voice became paternal.</p> -<p>“Son, dat’s jes’ zactly like de man whut wuz in jail and his frien’ -come by and ast him whut dey put him in jail for. When de man in jail -tol’ him whut he wuz ‘cused of, de man on de outside said: ’Dey can’t -put you in jail for dat! De man dat was lookin’ out at him th’u’ de bars -laughed and said: ‘But I’se in jail!’ An’ dat’s de way ‘tis wif de -cullud folks in de Souf. Dey’s lots of things dey can’t do to ’em but -dese white folks does it jes’ de same. I reckon you got a lot of things -t’ learn yet, Doc, spite of goin’ up Nawth t’ study.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_118" class="pagenum">[118]</span> Kenneth felt -properly rebuked by this humble man who, though illiterate, was far from -being ignorant. He joined in, but not very heartily, at the general -laughter at Tucker’s homely sally.</p> -<p>Mr. Wilson, as acting chairman, ended the discussion by calling on -Tom Tracy. Tracy was a much younger man than Tucker and was about -Kenneth’s age. Tall, well built, intelligent looking, his dark brown -face had worn a scowl of discontent and resentment while Tucker had been -talking. He began talking in a clear voice that but poorly masked the -bitterness he felt but which he tried to keep out of his voice. Older -men like Mr. Tucker were always quick to rebuke any sign of “uppishness” -in the younger generation.</p> -<p>“I graduated from Tuskegee three years ago. My old mother worked -herself almost to death to keep me in school, and I came back here -determined to earn enough money to let her rest the balance of her life. -But she and my father had been living all their lives just like -Mr. Tucker here, and they didn’t have anything to give me a start. So I -went to work on shares, taking that thirty acres that joins on to Mr. -Tucker’s farm on the South. I took this land that wasn’t thought to be -any good, because it had been exhausted through overworking it year -after year. I bought some new ploughs and fixed it up fine. I thought I -could put the things I learned at Tuskegee into practice and in a couple -of years pay off all I owed. But instead of doing that, I’m getting -deeper in debt every year. I rent my place from Ed Stewart and <span -id="Page_119" class="pagenum">[119]</span> he knows that I know he’s -cheating and robbing and lying to me, but when I try to show him where -he is wrong in his figures, all he does is to get mad and start to -cussing me and telling me that if I don’t keep a civil tongue in my -head, the Ku Klux Klan will be hearing about this ‘sassy young nigger -Tracy’ and I’ll wish I had kept my mouth shut. I’m getting sick of the -whole thing, too. If it wasn’t for the old folks, I expect I’d ‘a’ -started something long ago. They are all talking about me being a -dangerous character out my way already. Say I’m too ‘uppity’ and I need -to be taught a lesson to show me that ‘niggers must stay in their -places.’”</p> -<p>Tracy finished speaking in a tone that was almost a shout. It could -be seen that he was very near the breaking-point from brooding over the -wrongs he had suffered.</p> -<p>Mr. Phillips, who had said nothing, broke in with a question.</p> -<p>“Tom, why don’t you move away from Ed Stewart’s place if he doesn’t -treat you right?”</p> -<p>Tracy replied bitterly:</p> -<p>“Yes, suppose I tried to leave, what would happen? The same day I -left, Sheriff Parker would come and get me. They’d put me on trial for -jumping my contract and fine me. Old Stewart would be in court to -testify against me. He’d pay my fine and then I’d have to go back to -Stewart’s place and work a year or two for nothing, paying off the fine. -A fat chance I’ve got with the cards all stacked against me!”</p> -<p><span id="Page_120" class="pagenum">[120]</span> Mr. Young, of the -Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church, nodded assent to Tracy’s -statement.</p> -<p>“Brother Tracy’s right. Look at what happened to Jeff Anderson down -near Valdosta last spring. He ran away and got to Detroit where he had a -good job working in an automobile plant. They swore out a warrant -against him for stealing, brought him back, and the last I heard of him -he was back down there working out a three-hundred-dollar fine. No, -Brother Phillips, you’ve been reading the law that applies to white -folks—not to us coloured people.”</p> -<p>James Swann’s story was along the same lines as the others. The seven -men entered into a discussion of ways and means of taking some action -which would alleviate conditions before the harvesting of the crop which -was now in the ground. One suggestion after another was offered, only to -be as quickly discarded because of local difficulties. Midnight came, -with no decision reached. When it became apparent that nothing would be -settled, Kenneth was chosen with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Phillips to work out -some plan to be reported at the meeting to be held one week later.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_121" class="pagenum">[121]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER IX -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">T</span><span -class="smallcaps">here</span> was being held another meeting the same -night. Two miles from Central City, to the North, was a natural -auditorium, an amphitheatre formed by three hills. In this place a -meeting alfresco was in progress. Though the place was far enough from -the road to be reasonably free from prying intruders, sentinels paced -the narrow roads that led to the place of assemblage. Skeleton-like -pine-trees formed an additional barrier to the lonely spot, making as -they did a natural fringe atop the three hills.</p> -<p>There was no moon. Light was furnished by pine torches fastened in -some instances to trees, in others borne aloft by members of the -gathering. About three hundred men were ranged in a circle around a -rudely carved cross stuck in the ground. Each man was garbed in a long -white robe reaching to his feet. On the left breast of each hood was a -cross with other strange figures. Over the head of each man was a cowl -with holes for eyelets. It was a meeting of Central City Klan, Knights -of the Ku Klux Klan, Realm of Georgia. The Exalted Cyclops, whose voice -bore a remarkable likeness to that of Sheriff Parker, was initiating new -members into the mysteries of the order. He held in his hand a <span -id="Page_122" class="pagenum">[122]</span> sheet from which he was -reading the oath which the “aliens” repeated after him with their right -hands upraised. Whether through fright or excitement or because the -night air was chilly, the voices of the embryo “knights” had a strange -quaver in them. Around them, rank on rank, stood the Klansmen, who -followed the ceremony closely.</p> -<p>“… will willingly conform—to all regulations, usages, and -requirements—of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan—which do now exist—or -which may hereafter—be enacted—and will render—at all times—loyal -respect, and steadfast support—to the Imperial Authority of same. …”</p> -<p>The droning voices ended the monotonous recital. The flickering -torches gave forth a weird light that was lost in the darkness cast by -the trees. The pungent odour of burning resin and the thick stifling -smoke were blown by vagrant breezes into the faces of the hooded -figures, causing a constant accompaniment of coughs, sneezes, and curses -to the mumbled words. A recent rain-storm had left the low-lying ground -soggy and damp and mightily uncomfortable underfoot. The crowd shifted -uneasily as their feet grew cold with the dampness. Moths, mosquitoes, -and other flying insects, attracted by the flaring lights, swarmed, -getting beneath the cowls and robes and adding to the discomfort of the -wearers. Even the imperfect illumination showed the cheap material of -which the disguises were made, exhibited the wrinkles and dirt around -the hems, revealed every aspect <span id="Page_123" -class="pagenum">[123]</span> of the ill-fitting garments. Once from a -spluttering torch there fell a bit of blazing resin on the hand of the -man holding the light. With a yell he dropped the torch, danced and -howled with pain, a ludicrous figure, until the agony had subsided. The -torch, flung hastily away, set fire to the underbrush into which it had -been cast. An unlooked-for intermission in the ceremonies followed as a -score of the figures, holding the skirts of their robes aloft like old -maids frightened at the appearance of a mouse, stamped out the fire, -circling and yelling like a band of whirling deryishes.</p> -<p>Stodgy, phlegmatic, stupid citizens by day, these by night went -through the discomforts of so unprepared a meeting-place, and through -the absurdities of the rites imposed upon them by clever rogues who -extracted from them fees and donations for the privilege of being made -to appear more silly than is usually apparent. Add to that gullibility a -natural love of the mysterious and adventurous and an instinct towards -brute action restrained only by fear of punishment, by a conjuring of -bogies and other malevolent dangers, and one understands, at least in -part, the presence of these three hundred “white, Gentile, Protestant” -citizens of Central City at this meeting.</p> -<p>The initiation ended, the Exalted Cyclops ordered the Kligrapp or -secretary to read several communications from the Imperial Klan Palace -at Atlanta. This he did, struggling manfully through the weird and -absurd verbiage that would have made any of <span id="Page_124" -class="pagenum">[124]</span> the men present howl with laughter had he -heard his children using it in their play. Instead it was listened to -attentively, seriously, and solemnly.</p> -<p>Then followed a recital of the work to be done by the local Klan. The -Kligrapp consulted a sheet of paper in his hand.</p> -<p>“The eye that never sleeps has been seeking out those in our city who -have acted in a manner displeasing to the Invisible Empire. There is in -Central City a nigger wench named Nancy Ware who has been saying evil -things against our brother, George Parker. In the name of our sacred -order, and in the furtherance of our supreme duty of preservation of -white supremacy, she is being watched and will be treated so as to end -her dangerous utterances.”</p> -<p>At this statement a robed figure that, even under the disguise, -seemed to resemble him who had been “defamed” by Nancy Ware’s tongue -nodded approvingly. The Kligrapp continued after a pause:</p> -<p>“Word has also come to us from Brothers Ed Stewart and Taylor that -there’s a young nigger named Tom Tracy out this way who’s going around -among the niggers saying that they have got to stop white people from -robbing them on their crops. Tracy hasn’t done anything but talk thus -far, but we will keep our eye on him and stop him if he talks too much.” -Cowled heads nodded approvingly.</p> -<p>“And then there’s a nigger doctor who came in my office I mean, he -went into the office of Health Commissioner Lane—and had the gall to -repo’t the <span id="Page_125" class="pagenum">[125]</span> death of a -nigger bootlegger and say that a white man had killed him for fooling -around with the nigger’s wife. This nigger’s daddy was one of the best -niggers that ever lived here in this town, and this boy’s keeping away -from the other trouble-making niggers, but we’ve got to watch all these -niggers that’s been spoiled by goin’ to school.” He added, as an -afterthought: “… up Nawth.”</p> -<p>And so he droned on. Negroes, two Jews, three men suspected of -Catholic leanings—all were condemned by the self-appointed arbiters of -morals and manners. One or two men were singled out as violating the -code of morals by consorting with Negro women. There was not much to -report on this score, as those who were violating this rule in Central -City had rushed, on formation of a Klan there, to join the order, that -they might gain immunity from attack and yet continue their extra-legal -activities without check or interference. With the conclusion of the -Kligrapp’s report, the meeting dispersed, the members silently entered -the woods and there disrobing, and scattering to their various homes. -Some went towards “Factoryville,” some towards the country districts, -others climbed into automobiles parked near the road and drove towards -the residential section of Central City where lived the more affluent -merchants and other upper-class whites of the town.</p> -<p>The place was soon deserted. The ceremony had been a strange mixture -of the impressive and the absurd. There was underneath the ridiculously -<span id="Page_126" class="pagenum">[126]</span> worded language, the -amusing childlike observance of the empty ceremonies, the queer -appearance of the robes all designed alike with little regard for -fatness or thinness of the prospective wearers, a seriousness which -betokened a belief in the urgent need of their organizing in such a -manner. They had been duped so long by demagogues, deluded generation -after generation into believing their sole hope of existence depended on -oppression and suppression of the Negro, that the chains of the -ignorance and suppression they sought to fasten on their Negro -neighbours had subtly bound them in unbreakable fashion. They opposed -every move for better educational facilities for their children, for -improvement of their health or economic status or welfare in general, if -such improvement meant better advantages for Negroes.</p> -<p>Creatures of the fear they sought to inspire in others, their lives -are lived in constant dread of the things of evil and terror they -preached. It is a system based on stark, abject fear—fear that he whom -they termed inferior might, with opportunity, prove himself not -inferior. This unenlightened viewpoint rules men throughout the South -like those who formed the Central City Klan—dominates their every action -or thought—keeps the whites back while the Negro—in spite of what he -suffers—always keeps his face towards the sun of achievement. …</p> -<p>In spite of the secrecy surrounding the meeting, next morning all -Central City talked of what had taken place on the previous evening. In -such a town, where little diversion exists, the inhabitants seize with -<span id="Page_127" class="pagenum">[127]</span> avidity upon every -morsel of news that promises entertainment. Though they had taken -fearful oaths of secrecy, it was asking too much of human frailty to -expect three hundred men to refrain even from mysterious hints of their -doings. With the love that simple minds have of the clandestine, the -midnight secrecy, the elaborately arranged peregrinations to the place -of meeting, the safeguards adopted by the leaders not so much to prevent -interference as to impress their followers, the “inviolable oath,” the -grips and passwords—all these added to the human desire to be considered -important in the eyes of family and friends and neighbours. Thus many of -the three hundred dropped hints to their wives of what had been said and -done. Over back fences, at the stores on Lee Street, in the numerous -places where women contrived to meet and gossip, the one topic discussed -was the meeting of the night before. One told her bit of information to -another, who in turn contributed her mite. Each in turn told a third and -a fourth. With each telling, the ball of gossip grew, and each -repetition bore artistic additions of fact or fancy designed to add to -the drama of the story. By noon the compounded result assumed the -proportions of a feat bordering on the heroic.</p> -<p>At the noonday meal, known as dinner, the men found themselves viewed -in a new and admiring light by their spouses and offspring. They basked -in the temporary glamour and sought to add to the fame of their midnight -prowling by elaborate hints of deeds of dark and magnificent -proportions.</p> -<p><span id="Page_128" class="pagenum">[128]</span> In turn, to the -Negro section of Central City were borne the tales by cooks and -laundresses and maids, servants, with acutely developed ears, in the -houses of the whites. Everywhere in the Negro section, in homes, on -street corners, over back fences, the news was discussed by the dusky -inhabitants of the town. In the eyes of a few, fear could be discerned. -Most of the Negroes, however, discussed the news as they would have -talked about the coming of the circus to town. Some talked loudly and in -braggart fashion of what they would do if the “Kluxers” bothered them. -Others examined for the hundredth time well-oiled revolvers. Most -generally the feeling was a hope the Klan would not bother any coloured -person—but if it did—! …</p> -<p>It was natural that the news should eventually reach Nancy Ware and -Tom Tracy and, last of all, Kenneth. Mrs. Amos, bustling with -importance, hastened as fast as her rheumatism would allow to tell -Mrs. Harper what the Klansmen had said or, to be more accurate, what -Dame Rumour said the Klansmen had said, about Kenneth and Bob. It was -obvious the two men had taken on a new importance in her eyes in being -singled out for the attention of the clandestine organization.</p> -<p>That night in Kenneth’s office the brothers talked over the news. -Kenneth scoffed at what seemed to him a fantastic and improbable tale. -He looked searchingly at his brother.</p> -<p>“Well Bob, what do you make of it?”</p> -<p>“Trouble for somebody,” said Bob positively. <span id="Page_129" -class="pagenum">[129]</span> “And I have a sort of feeling that that -somebody is us,” he added after a pause.</p> -<p>“I’m not so sure,” was Kenneth’s doubtful rejoinder. “Some of these -Crackers are just mean enough to start something, but I’m pretty sure -there are enough decent white people in Central City to check any -trouble that might start.”</p> -<p>Bob said nothing, though his face showed plainly he did not share his -brother’s confidence. Kenneth went on:</p> -<p>“Besides, they must have sense enough to know that a sheet and -pillow-case won’t scare coloured folks to-day as they did fifty years -ago. It wasn’t hard to scare Negroes then—they’d just come out of -slavery, and believed in ghosts and spooks and all those other silly -things. But to-day⸺”</p> -<p>“I think white people are right sometimes,” broke in Bob with -conviction, “when they say education ruins a Negro. One of those times -is when you talk like that.”</p> -<p>The irony in his voice was but thinly veiled. He continued:</p> -<p>“The Southern white man boasts he knows the Negro better than anybody -else, but he knows less what the coloured man is really thinking than -the man in the moon. I’ll bet anything you say, that seven out of every -ten men in town believe that you and I and all the rest of us coloured -folks are scared to death every time we hear the word ‘Ku Klux.’ They -believe the sight of one of those fool robes’ll make us run and hide -under a bed⸺”</p> -<p><span id="Page_130" class="pagenum">[130]</span> “Oh, I don’t go -quite that far,” interrupted Kenneth. “I only said I thought some of the -good white people”</p> -<p>“You can name all your ‘good white folks’ on one hand,” replied Bob -irritably. “A lot they could do if these poor white trash decide to -raise hell. Why, they’d lynch Judge Stevenson or Roy Ewing or anybody -else if they tried to stop ’em. Look what they did to Governor Slaton at -Atlanta just because he commuted the sentence of that Jew, Leo Frank!” -he added triumphantly. “A mob even went out to his house to lynch -<i>him—the governor!”</i></p> -<p>“But that was an extraordinary case,” replied Kenneth.</p> -<p>“Call it what you will, it just shows you how far they will go when -they are all stirred up. And with this Ku Klux outfit to stir them up, -there’s no telling what’ll happen.”</p> -<p>“Bob, do you really believe what you said just now about most of them -really believing Negroes will be scared by the Klan? That seems so -far-fetched.”</p> -<p>“Believe it? Of course I do. Just use your eyes and see how Negroes -fool white folks all the time. Take, for instance, old Will Hutchinson -who works for Mr. Baird. Will cuts all sorts of monkey-shines around -Baird, laughs like an idiot, and wheedles old Baird out of anything he’s -got. Baird gives it to him and then tells his friends about ‘his good -nigger Will’ and boasts that Will is one ‘darky’ he really knows. Then -Will goes home and laughs at the fool he’s made of Baird by acting like -a fool.” Bob <span id="Page_131" class="pagenum">[131]</span> laughed at -the memory of many occasions on which Will had bamboozled his employer. -“And there are Negroes all over the South doing the same thing every -day!” he ended.</p> -<p>“That’s true,” admitted Kenneth, “but what ought we to do about this -meeting last night?”</p> -<p>“Do?” echoed Bob. A determined look came to his face, his teeth -clenched, his eyes narrowed until they became thin slits. “Do?” he -repeated. “If they ever bother me, I’m going to fight—and fight like -hell!”</p> -<p>Long into the night Kenneth sat alone in his office, wondering how it -was all going to turn out.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_132" class="pagenum">[132]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER X -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">T</span><span -class="smallcaps">he</span> next day Kenneth received a letter from Jane -Phillips. In it she announced that she would arrive in Central City on -Monday morning.</p> -<p>Kenneth’s face took on a satisfied smile and deep down in his heart -there was happiness and contentment. Jane had occupied an increasingly -large portion of his thoughts ever since those wonderful ten days they -had spent together last December. Kenneth’s life had been singularly -free from feminine influence, other than that of his mother. It was not -that he was averse to such influence, but his life had been so busy that -he had had no time to spend in wandering through the Elysian fields of -love-making. There had been one girl in New York. He had met her at a -dance in Harlem. Together they had spent their Sundays and the evenings -when he was free from his duties at the hospital in wandering through -Central and Bronx Parks. Occasionally they had attended the theatre. One -night their hands had touched as they sat in the semi-darkness and -watched the tender love scene on the stage. She had not withdrawn her -hand. He sat there thrilled at the touch and had lived the character of -the make-believe hero as he made ardent love on the stage. Naturally, -the heroine was none other than the girl <span id="Page_133" -class="pagenum">[133]</span> who sat beside him. Afterwards, they had -ridden home atop a Fifth Avenue bus, and the whole city seemed filled -with romance. He had imagined himself at the time deeply in love. But -that tender episode had soon ended when he told her he was planning to -return to Georgia. “Kenneth!” she had exclaimed. “How can you think of -living down South again? It’s silly of you even to think of it! I could -never think of living down there where they are likely to lynch you at a -moment’s notice! It’s too barbaric, too horrible an existence to -consider even for a minute!” Kenneth had tried to show her that it -wasn’t as bad as it had been painted, that coloured people who minded -their own business never had any trouble. But she had been obdurate. -Kenneth left the house in a huff, and had never gone back again. What -silly notions women have, he had thought to himself. The reason they -talked about the South that way was because of sheer ignorance. As if he -couldn’t manage his own affairs and keep away from trouble! Humph! Well -rid of the silly creature, and he felt glad he had found out before -going in too deep.</p> -<p>But now this was different. Jane had no such absurd notions as those -girls up North had. She wasn’t the sort that couldn’t leave promenading -down Seventh Avenue in New York or State Street in Chicago or U Street -in Washington. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what it meant to live in -the North. Hadn’t she been to Atlantic City and New York and Washington -with her mother? No, Jane was just <span id="Page_134" -class="pagenum">[134]</span> the sort of girl who would make the right -sort of companion for him in a place like Central City. Intelligent, -with a good education, talented musically—she would make an ideal wife. -Kenneth found himself musing along in this fashion until aroused by his -mother as she called him to supper.</p> -<p>It was darned silly of him, he thought as he arose to comply, to go -along thinking like this. He and Jane had spoken no word of love when -she had been at home at Christmas. Nor had their letters been other than -those of good friends. But hadn’t she written him almost every week -since she left? She must think something of him to have done that. He -determined that as soon as he could he would skilfully direct the -conversation to the point where he could find out just where he stood. -It was time that he was thinking about settling down, anyhow. He would -be twenty-nine his next birthday—he was making money—if he acted wisely -his future was assured. Yes, he would find out how Jane felt. Both his -mother and Mamie liked Jane—and Mr. Phillips had called him “my boy” -several times lately and had repeated to him snatches of the letters -that Jane had written home. The only doubtful quantity was the attitude -of Jane herself.</p> -<p>On Monday morning Kenneth reached the railroad station long before -the train arrived. He tried to sit in the filthy little waiting-room -with the sign over the door, “FOR COLOURED,” but the air was so -oppressive that he chose rather to walk up and down the road outside the -station. At last the train came. <span id="Page_135" -class="pagenum">[135]</span> He walked down towards the engine where the -Jim Crow car was. It was half baggage car and half coach. A motley crowd -of laughing, shouting Negroes descended, calling out to friends and -relatives in the group of Negroes on the ground. Standing on tiptoe, -Kenneth strained his eyes to get glimpse of Jane. The windows of the -coach were too dirty to see inside. At last she appeared on the -platform, dainty, neat, and looking as though she had just emerged from -her own room, in spite of the filth and cindery foulness of the coach. -Kenneth thought of the simile of a rose springing up from a bed of -noisome and unlovely weeds as he hurried forward to help Jane with her -bags through the crowd of coloured people that flocked around the -steps.</p> -<p>Jane greeted him cordially enough, her eyes shining with pleasure at -seeing him again. Kenneth, however, felt a vague disappointment. He had -let his thoughts run riot while she had been away. So far as he was -concerned, the only things necessary were the actual asking of the -all-important question and the choosing of a wedding-day. As he followed -her to his car, he turned over in his mind just what it was that -disappointed him so in her greeting. He couldn’t put his finger on it -exactly, but she would have greeted Bob or any other man just as warmly -and he would not have felt jealous at all. Maybe she’s tired from the -ride in that dirty and noisy car? She’ll be quite different when I go -over to see her to-night, he thought.</p> -<p>He inquired regarding her trip—was it pleasant? <span id="Page_136" -class="pagenum">[136]</span> “Ugh, it was horrible!” she replied, -shuddering at the memory of it. “I had a Pullman as far as Atlanta, but -there I had to change to that dirty old Jim Crow car. There was a crowd -of Negroes who had three or four quarts of cheap liquor. They were -horrible. Why, they even had the nerve to offer me a drink! And the -conductor must have told everybody on the train that I was up front, -because all night long there was a constant procession of white men -passing up and down the coach looking at me in a way that made my blood -boil. I didn’t dare go to sleep, because I didn’t know what might -happen. It was awful!”</p> -<p>She sat silent as she lived over again the horror of the ride. Then, -shaking off her mood, she turned to him with a cheerful smile. “Thank -Goodness, it’s over now, and I don’t want to think of it any more than I -can help. Tell me all about yourself and what you’ve been doing and -everything,” she finished all in a breath.</p> -<p>He told her briefly what had been going on, of his plans for the -hospital, of the meeting at Reverend Wilson’s, and other items of -interest about life in Central City, until they had arrived at her home. -He waited for an invitation to come in, but in the excitement of seeing -her mother and father again, she forgot all about Kenneth. Placing her -bags on the porch, he turned and left after promising to run over for a -while that evening.</p> -<p>The time seemed to go by on dragging feet that day. It seemed as -though evening never would come. <span id="Page_137" -class="pagenum">[137]</span> It did at last, however, and as soon as he -finished with the last patient, he went over to Jane’s home. Refreshed -by a long rest, she greeted him clad in a dress of some filmy blue -material. They seated themselves on the porch, shaded by vines from the -eyes of passers-by. Over Kenneth there came a feeling of -contentment—life had not been easy for him and he had been denied a -confidante with whom he could discuss the perplexities he had -experienced in Central City. The talk for a time drifted from one topic -to another. Before he knew it, Kenneth was telling Jane of his -ambitions, of the plans he had made before coming back to Central City, -of the successes and failures he had met with, of his hopes for the -future. Jane listened without speaking for some time. Life among -coloured people is so intense, so earnest, so serious a problem in the -South, that never do two intelligent Negroes talk very long before the -race problem in some form is under discussion. Jane interrupted Kenneth -in the midst of his recital.</p> -<p>“Kenneth, did you really believe that you could come back here to -Central City and keep entirely away from the race problem?”</p> -<p>“I don’t know that I thought it out as carefully as that, but I hoped -to do something like that,” was his uneasy reply. He had the feeling -that she didn’t altogether approve of him. Her next words proved that -she didn’t.</p> -<p>“Well, you can’t do it. Just because your father got along all right -is no reason why you should do the same things he did. You are living in -a time <span id="Page_138" class="pagenum">[138]</span> that is as -different from his as his was from his great-grandfather’s.”</p> -<p>“But⸺” he attempted to defend himself.</p> -<p>“Wait a minute until I’ve had my say,” she checked him. “Only a few -years ago they said that as soon as Negroes got property and made -themselves good citizens the race problem would be solved. They said -that only bad Negroes were ever lynched and they alone caused all the -trouble. But you just think back over the list of coloured people right -here in Central City who’ve had the most trouble during the past two -years. What do you find? That it is the Negro who has acquired more -property than the average white man, they are always picking on. Poor -whites resent seeing a Negro more prosperous than they, and they satisfy -their resentment by making it hard on that Negro. Am I right—or am I -wrong?”</p> -<p>“I suppose there is something in what you say—but what’s the answer? -You’re damned if you do—and you’re damned if you don’t!”</p> -<p>“I don’t know what the answer is—if I did, I’d certainly try to put -it into use, instead of sitting around and trying to dodge trouble. If -one of your patients had a cancer, you wouldn’t advise him to use -Christian Science in treating it, would you?”</p> -<p>Without pausing for a reply, she went on, her words pouring out in a -flood that made Kenneth feel as he did as a boy when spanked by his -mother. “No, you wouldn’t! You’d operate! And that’s just what the -coloured people and the white people of <span id="Page_139" -class="pagenum">[139]</span> the South have got to do. That is, those -who’ve got any sense and backbone. If they don’t, then this thing they -call the race problem is going to grow so big it’s going to consume the -South and America. It’s almost that big now.”</p> -<p>She paused for breath. Kenneth started to speak but she checked him -with her hand.</p> -<p>“I’m not through yet! I’ve been thinking over this thing for a long -time, just as every other Negro has done who’s got brains enough to do -any thinking at all. I am sick and tired of hearing all this prating -about the ‘superior race.’ Superior—humph! Kenneth, what you and all the -rest of Negroes need is to learn that you belong to a race that was -centuries old when the first white man came into the world. You’ve got -to learn that a large part of this thing they call ‘white civilization’ -was made by black hands, as well as by yellow and brown and red hands, -too, besides what white hands have created. You’ve got to learn that the -Negro to-day is contributing as much of the work that makes this -civilization possible as the white race, if not more. Be proud of your -race and quit whining and cringing! You’ll never get anywhere until you -do! There, I’ve wanted to get that out of my system for a long time ever -since we talked together last Christmas. Now it’s out and I’m -through!”</p> -<p>Kenneth sat quiet. While she had been pouring forth her tirade, he -had thought of several logical arguments he could have advanced. But she -had given him no chance to utter them. Now they seemed <span -id="Page_140" class="pagenum">[140]</span> weak and useless. He was -resentful—what did women know about the practical problems and -difficulties of life, anyway? His anger was not abated by the -realization that Jane felt that he had been trying to avoid his -responsibility to himself and to his people—that he had been a coward. -And yet she was right in a general way in what she had said. Masking as -well as he could the chagrin he felt at her words, he told her of the -trouble Tucker and Tracy and Swann and the other share-croppers were -having, and gave her further details of the meeting at Reverend -Wilson’s.</p> -<p>She sensed the wound to his pride that she had inflicted. She did not -regret doing what she had done—on the long ride home she had determined -that she would tell him those very things as soon as she could find -opportunity—but, with a woman’s natural tenderness, she regretted the -necessity of hurting him. She put her hand over his for an instant, -touched at his dejected manner.</p> -<p>“I’m sorry, Ken, if I hurt you, but I did it because you are too fine -a man, and you’ve got too good an education, to try to dodge an issue as -plain as yours. Why, Kenneth, you’ve had it mighty soft—just think of -the thousands of coloured boys all over the South who are too poor to -get even a high-school training. You’ve never had to get down and dig -for what you’ve got—perhaps it would have been better if you had. It’s -men with your brains and education that have got to take the leadership. -You’ve got <span id="Page_141" class="pagenum">[141]</span> to make -good! That’s just the reason they try to make it hard for men like -you—they know that if you ever get going, their treating the Negro as -they have has got to stop! They’re darned scared of educated Negroes -with brains—that’s why they make it hard for you!”</p> -<p>Kenneth threw out his hands, palms upward, and shrugged his -shoulders.</p> -<p>“I suppose I agree with you in theory, Jane, but what are the -practical ways of doing the things you say I ought to do? How, for -example, can I help Tracy and Tucker and all the rest of the farmers -who’re being robbed of all they earn every year?”</p> -<p>“Don’t get angry now just because I touched your masculine vanity. I -know about the share-cropping system in a general way. Tell me the facts -that were brought out at the meeting.”</p> -<p>Kenneth told her in detail the things Hiram Tucker and the others had -said. She sat in thought for a minute, her chin cupped in the palm of -her hand, her elbow resting on the arm of the chair, as she rocked back -and forth. Kenneth sat watching her in what was almost sardonic -amusement. He had been wrestling with this same problem ever since -Thursday night and was no nearer a solution than he had been then. It -would be amusing in a few minutes, after all her high-flown thoughts and -elaborate generalities about bucking the race question, when she would -be forced to admit that when it came to solving one of the practical -problems of the whole ques<span id="Page_142" -class="pagenum">[142]</span>tion her generalizing would be of no avail. -He was aroused by a question thrown at him suddenly by Jane.</p> -<p>“Do these folks have to buy their supplies from the landlord?”</p> -<p>“Not that I know of,” he replied. “They buy from the landlord, or the -merchant designated by the landlord, because they haven’t the money or -the credit to trade anywhere else.”</p> -<p>There followed another pause while the rocking began again.</p> -<p>“Do you remember any of the economics you learned at school?” was the -next query. He replied that he supposed he did.</p> -<p>“Have you got any books on co-operative societies?” He doubted -whether he had.</p> -<p>“Well, never mind.” She swung her chair around, facing Kenneth, and -leaned forward intently, the light from the arc-lamp in the corner -illumining her face and revealing the eager, enthusiastic look upon -it.</p> -<p>“Kenneth, why can’t those coloured people pool their money and buy -their goods wholesale and then distribute them at cost?”</p> -<p>Kenneth laughed, it must be confessed a little cheerfully, that she -had gone from one problem into the mazes of another that was just as -difficult.</p> -<p>“For the very same reason that they are in the predicament they are -in to-day. They haven’t got the money. Perhaps you can tell me where the -money to start this co-operative scheme is coming from?” <span -id="Page_143" class="pagenum">[143]</span></p> -<p>“That’s an easy one to answer. It’s going to come from you and papa -and three or four more of these folks here in town who can afford it! -Oh, Ken, can’t you see what a big thing you can do? There are lots of -people, white people I mean, right here in Central City, who’d be glad -to help these poor Negroes get out of debt. Papa was telling us today -about a talk he had with Judge Stevenson the other day. The Judge said -he wished there was some way to help without it making him unpopular -with the other folks here in town. Of course, the folks who are making -money off this system, the landlords and the store-keepers, won’t like -it, but you can go and talk with folks like Judge Stevenson and -Mr. Baird down at the Bank of Central City. If this first trial -succeeds—and I know it will be a success—it’ll spread all over Smith -County, and then all over Georgia, and then all over the South, and the -coloured folks will have millions of dollars that they’ve been cheated -out of before. That, Kenneth Harper, is one way you can lead, and it -won’t get you in bad with the white people at least the decent -ones—either.”</p> -<p>Kenneth began to be infected by her enthusiasm. He saw that her idea -had possibilities. But, manlike, he didn’t want to give in too soon or -too readily.</p> -<p>“There is something in what you say, Jane, but the details will have -to be worked out first before we can tell if it is a practicable idea. -I’ll think it⸺”</p> -<p>Jane interrupted him, showing that she hadn’t even been listening to -him.</p> -<p><span id="Page_144" class="pagenum">[144]</span> “When are you to -meet again at Reverend Wilson’s?” she asked.</p> -<p>He told her.</p> -<p>“Well, I tell you what we’ll do. You go home and think over all the -ways we can put this idea into practice. I’ll do the same thing. And -then we’ll talk it over again to-morrow night. On Wednesday you go down -to see Judge Stevenson and see if he will draw up the papers so it’ll be -legal and binding and everything else. Then on Thursday night you can -present this as your own idea, and I’ll bet you anything you say, -they’ll take it up and you’ll be the one chosen to lead the whole -movement.”</p> -<p>After some discussion of details, Kenneth left. The more he thought -of Jane’s idea, the more it appealed to him. At any rate, she had -suggested more in half an hour than he had been able to think of in four -days. Hadn’t the co-operative societies been the backbone of the -movement to get rid of the Czar in Russia? If the Russian peasants, who -certainly weren’t as educated as the Negro in America, had made a -success of the idea, the Negro in the South ought to do it. By Jove, -they could do it! Idea after idea sprang to his mind, after the seed had -been sown by Jane, until he had visions of a vast cooperative society -not only buying but selling the millions of dollars’ worth of products -raised by the nine million Negroes of the South. And that wasn’t all! -These societies would be formed with each member paying monthly dues, -like the fraternal organizations. When enough money was in the treasury, -they would <span id="Page_145" class="pagenum">[145]</span> employ the -very best lawyers money could get to take one of those cases where a -Negro had not been able to get a fair settlement with his landlord, and -make a test case of it. What if they did lose in the local court? They’d -take it to the State Supreme Court! What if they did lose even there? -They’d take it clear up to the United States Supreme Court! They were -sure to win there. Kenneth walked home with his head whirling with the -project’s possibilities. He saw a new day coming when a man in the South -would no longer be exploited and robbed just because he was black. And -when that came, lynching and everything else like it would go too. He -felt already like Matthew and Andrew and Peter and John and the other -disciples when they started out to bring the good news to the whole -world. For wasn’t he a latter-day disciple bringing a new solution and a -new hope to his people?</p> -<p>It was not until Kenneth had gone to bed that he realized that though -he had been with Jane all the evening, he had had not one minute when he -could have spoken of love to her. Musing thus, he fell asleep.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_146" class="pagenum">[146]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XI -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">E</span><span -class="smallcaps">arly</span> the next morning Kenneth rose and rummaged -through his books until he found his old and battered text-books on -economics.</p> -<p>Into these he dipped during the intervals between patients, making -notes of ideas which seemed useful in the organization of the -co-operative society. The more he read, the more feasible the plan -seemed. Properly guided and carefully managed, there was no reason, so -far as he could see, why the society should not be a success. Eighty per -cent of the farmers of the South, white and coloured, he estimated, -suffered directly or indirectly from the present economic system. Though -his interest was in the Negro tillers of the soil, success in their case -would inevitably react favourably on the white just as oppression and -exploitation of the Negro had done more harm to white people in the -South than to Negroes. Kenneth felt the warm glow of the crusader in a -righteous cause. Already he saw a new day in the South with white and -coloured people free from oppression and hatred and prejudice—prosperous -and contented because of that prosperity. He could see a lifting of the -clouds of ignorance which hung over all the South, an awakening of the -best in all the people of the South. Thus has youth dreamed <span -id="Page_147" class="pagenum">[147]</span> since the beginning of time. -Thus will youth ever dream. And in those dreams rests the hope of the -world, for without them this world with all its defects would sink into -the black abyss of despair, never to rise again.</p> -<p>His work finished for the day, he went as soon as he decently could -to talk with Jane. She, too, had been at work. Eagerly they planned -between them the infinite details of so ambitious a scheme. Confidently -they discounted possible difficulties they might expect to encounter—the -opposition of the whites who were profiting from the present system, the -petty jealousies and suspicions of those who would gain most from the -success of their scheme. They realized that the Negro had been robbed so -much, both by his own people and by the whites, that he was chary of new -plans and projects. They knew he was contentious and quarrelsome. These -things seemed trivial, however, for with the natural expansiveness of -the young they felt that difficulties like these were but trifles to be -airily brushed aside.</p> -<p>Jane was not too much engrossed in their plans to notice the change -in Kenneth’s manner. She had watched him closely during the times she -had seen him since his return. He had been almost morose, his mind -divided between his work and the effort to keep to a -“middle-of-the-road” course in his relations with the whites. The -inevitable conflict within himself, the lack of decisiveness in his -daily life that he consciously developed and which was so diametri<span -id="Page_148" class="pagenum">[148]</span>cally opposite to that he used -in his profession, had begun to create a complex personality that was -far from pleasing. In a freer atmosphere Kenneth would have been a -direct, straightforward character, swift to decision and quick of -action. One cannot, however, compromise principle constantly and -consciously without bearing the marks of such conflicts.</p> -<p>His compromises were not all conscious ones, though. He believed -honestly it was wisest that he observe some sort of half-way ground -between rank cowardice and uncompromising opposition to the conditions -which existed. In doing so, he had no sense of physical or moral -timidity. He knew no Negro could yet safely advocate complete freedom -for the Negro in the South. He felt there had been improvement during -the past half-century in those conditions. He believed that in time all -of the Negro’s present problems would be solved satisfactorily. If, by -not trying to rush things, he could help in that solution, he was -content. In believing thus, Kenneth was different in no way from the -majority of intelligent Negroes in the South: temporizing with the -truth, it may be, yet of such temporizations and compromises is the life -of the Negro all over the South.</p> -<p>With the evolving of a plan which enabled him to be of help and, at -the same time, involved him in no danger of trouble with his white -neighbours, Kenneth took on an eagerness which was at marked var<span -id="Page_149" class="pagenum">[149]</span>iance with his former manner. -His eyes shone with the desire to make their plan a success. Of a tender -and sympathetic nature, almost with the gentleness of a woman, he -realized now that the burdens of his race had lain heavy upon him. He -had suffered in their suffering, had felt almost as though he had been -the victim when he read or heard of a lynching, had chafed under the -bonds which bound the hands and feet and heart and soul of his people. -But launched as he now was on a plan to furnish relief from one of the -worst of those bonds, he had changed overnight into a determined and -purposeful and ardent worker towards the goal he and Jane had set for -themselves. Jane rejoiced at the changed air of Kenneth—he seemed to -have emerged from the shell in which he had encased himself and, -womanlike, she rejoiced that he had done so through her own work.</p> -<p>So absorbed had they been in discussion of their plans that the time -had flown by as though on wings. Ten o’clock was announced by -Mr. Phillips in the room above by the dropping of his shoes, one after -the other, on the floor. Kenneth needed no second signal, he rose to go. -Jane went to the door with him.</p> -<p>“Kenneth, you’re entirely different from the way you were yesterday. -I’m so glad. …”</p> -<p>The next morning he called on Judge Stevenson. The Judge’s office was -above the Bon Ton Store in a two-story brick building on Lee Street. -Kenneth <span id="Page_150" class="pagenum">[150]</span> climbed the -flight of dingy, dusty stairs which bore alternately on the vertical -portions tin signs inscribed:</p> -<div class="sign"> -Richad P. Stevenson, Attorney-at-Law -</div> -<div class="center"> -and -</div> -<div class="sign"> -Dr. J. C. Carpenter, Dentist. -</div> -<p>The judge’s office was at the head of the stairs and in it Kenneth -found the old lawyer seated near the window, his coat off, and in his -mouth the long, thin, villainous-looking cigar without which few persons -in Central City ever remembered seeing him, though none had ever seen -one of them lighted. He chewed on it ruminatively when in repose. When -engaged in an argument, either in or out of a courtroom, and especially -when opposition caused his choleric temper to be aroused, he chewed -furiously as though he would have enjoyed treating his enemy of the -moment in similar fashion. He was tall and thickset, his snow-white hair -brushed straight back from his forehead like the mane of a lion. Skin -reddened by exposure to sun and wind, bushy eyebrows from under which -gleamed fiery eyes that could shift in an instant from twinkling good -humour to flashing indignation or anger, thin nose and ample mouth, his -face was one that would command respect or at least attention in almost -any gathering. He wore loosely fitting, baggy clothes that draped his -ample figure with a gracefulness that added to his distinguished -appearance. Many thought he resembled at first glance that famous -Kentuckian, <span id="Page_151" class="pagenum">[151]</span> Henry -Watterson, and indeed he did bear an unmistakable likeness to “Marse -Henry.”</p> -<p>The judge’s life had been a curious combination of contradictions. He -had fought valiantly in the Confederate army as a major, serving under -“Stonewall” Jackson, whose memory he worshipped second only to that of -his wife, who had died some ten years before. He bore a long scar, -reminder of the wound that had laid him low during the battle of -Atlanta. His mode of brushing his hair back was adopted to cover the -mark, but when he talked, as he loved to do, of his martial experiences, -he would always, at the same time in the narrative, brush, with one -sweep of his hand, the hair down over his forehead and reveal the jagged -scar of which he was inordinately proud.</p> -<p>With the end of the Civil War, he had reconciled himself to the -result though it had meant the loss of most of his wealth. He harboured -little bitterness towards the North, unlike most of his comrades in arms -who never were willing to forgo any opportunity to vent their venomous -hatred of their conquerors. Judge Stevenson had counselled against such -a spirit. So vigorously had he done it, he had alienated most of those -who had been his closest friends. Following a speech he had delivered at -one of the reunions of Confederate veterans in which he urged his -comrades at least to meet half-way the overtures of friendliness from -the North, he had been denounced from the floor of the convention as a -“Yankee-lover,” and threatened with violence. Judge Stevenson with -flashing eye and belligerent <span id="Page_152" -class="pagenum">[152]</span> manner had jumped to his feet, offered to -fight any man, or any ten men, who thought him guilty of treachery to -the cause of the Confederacy, and when none accepted the challenge, -denounced them as cowards and quit the convention.</p> -<p>He had hoped that, with the passing on, one by one, of the -unreconstructed veterans of the Confederacy, a newer and less embittered -generation, with no personal memories of the gall of defeat, would right -things. Instead had come the rise of the poor whites with none of the -culture and refinement of the old Southern aristocracy, a nation of -petty minds and morals, vindictive, vicious, dishonest, and stupid. -Lacking in nearly all the things that made the old South, at least the -upper crust of it, the most civilized section of America at that time, -he saw his friends and all they stood for inundated by this flood of -crudeness and viciousness, until only a few remained left high and dry -like bits of wreckage from a foundered ship cast up on the shore to rot -away, while all around them raged this new regime, no longer poor in -purse but eternally impoverished in culture and civilizing influences. -On these the judge spat his contempt and he poured upon their -unconcerned heads the vials of his venom and wrath.</p> -<p>The second devastating blow he suffered was the succumbing, one by -one, of his children to the new order. Nancy, his eldest daughter, had -run away from home and married a merchant whose wealth had been gained -through the petty thievery of padding accounts and other sharp practices -on poorer <span id="Page_153" class="pagenum">[153]</span> whites and -Negroes. Mary Ann, his other daughter, whom he loved above all others of -his children, had fallen victim to an unfortunate love affair with a -dashing but worthless son of their next-door neighbour. She had died in -giving birth to her child, which, fortunately, the judge thought, had -been born dead. His son had “gone in for politics.” He had been -successful, as success was measured by the present-day South, but in his -father’s eyes, judged by the uncompromising standards of that member of -an older and nobler generation, he had sunk to levels of infamy from -which he could never recover.</p> -<p>The crowning misfortune dealt the judge by an unkind fate was the -loss of his gentle, kindly wife. She had uncomplainingly borne their -misfortunes one after another, had calmed and soothed her husband’s -irascible tantrums, had been a haven to which he could come and find -repose when buffeted by a world which he did not and could not -understand. As long as she lived, he had been able to bear up despite -the bitter disappointments life had dealt him. He had gone away to try a -case in a near-by county, had returned after a two days’ absence and -found her with a severe cold and fever.</p> -<p>For three weeks he did not leave her bedside, drove away in anger the -trained nurse Dr. Bennett brought to the house, ministered gently to his -wife’s every need, and held her in his arms as she breathed her last -breath. Frantic at this last and most crushing blow, he cursed the -doctor, though Dr. Bennett had done all he could in his bungling way, -cursed God, <span id="Page_154" class="pagenum">[154]</span> cursed -everything and everybody he could think of in his grief. He never -recovered from this loss. His hair rapidly became white, he neglected -his profession and sat by the hour, his eyes half closed, dreaming of -his dead wife. …</p> -<p>Had he chosen to adapt himself to the new order, he could have made -money. This, however, he refused to do. He boasted proudly that never -had he cheated any man or been a party to any transaction from which he -emerged with any stain on his honour. Friend he was to all in his -gentle, kindly manner—a relic of a day that had passed. …</p> -<p>He started, roused from one of his usual reveries, when Kenneth -knocked on the open door. The gentle breezes of late spring stirred the -mane of white hair as he brought his chair to the floor with a -thump.</p> -<p>“Come in, Ken, come right in.” He welcomed Kenneth heartily, though -in accordance with the Southern custom he did not offer to shake hands -with his visitor. “How’s your maw? Heard you’re doing right well since -you been back. Mighty glad to hear it, because yo’ daddy set a heap by -you.”</p> -<p>Kenneth assured him he was progressing fairly well, told him his -mother was well, and answered the innumerable questions the judge asked -him. He knew that these were inevitable and must be answered before the -judge would talk on any matter of business. After a few minutes of the -desultory and perfunctory questions and answers, Kenneth told, when -asked, the purpose of his visit. Chair tilted back again, elbows resting -on the arms of the chair, fin<span id="Page_155" -class="pagenum">[155]</span>gers placed end to end, and his chin resting -on the natural bridge thus formed, the judge listened to Kenneth’s -recital of his plan without comment other than an occasional -non-committal grunt.</p> -<p>“… And what I would like from you, Judge Stevenson, is, first, do you -think the plan will work, and, second, will you draw up the articles of -incorporation and whatever other legal papers we need?” Kenneth ended. -As an afterthought he added:</p> -<p>“You see, we want to do the job legally and above board, so there -won’t be any misunderstanding of our motives.”</p> -<p>For a long time Judge Stevenson said nothing, nor did he give any -indication that he was aware Kenneth had stopped speaking. In fact he -seemed oblivious even of Kenneth’s presence. Knowing better than to -interrupt him, Kenneth awaited somewhat anxiously the judge’s opinion. -When the silence had lasted nearly five minutes, a vague alarm began to -creep over Kenneth. Suppose the judge wasn’t as friendly towards -coloured people as he had supposed? A word from him could start serious -trouble before they got started. He wondered if he had acted wisely in -revealing so much of their plans. He felt sure he had done wrong when he -saw a look of what appeared to be anger pass over the judge’s face.</p> -<p>At last the old lawyer cleared his throat, his usual preliminary to -speech. But when he did talk he began on another subject.</p> -<p>“What’re the folks out your way saying about these <span -id="Page_156" class="pagenum">[156]</span> Kluxers? Any of you getting -worried about these fools parading ’round like a bunch of damn -fools?”</p> -<p>“To tell you the truth, Judge, I don’t really know yet what the -coloured people are thinking.” He felt that on this subject he could -speak frankly to the judge, as he was too sensible a man to take much -stock in the antics of the Klan. Yet, he was not too sure—coloured -people must always keep a careful watch on their tongues when talking to -white people in the South.</p> -<p>“You ain’t getting scared out there, are you?” the judge pressed the -point.</p> -<p>“No, I wouldn’t call it scared. Most of those with whom I’ve talked -don’t want any trouble with anybody—they want to attend to their own -business and be let alone. But if they are attacked, I’m afraid there -will be considerable trouble and somebody will get hurt.” He paused, -then went on: “And that somebody won’t be entirely composed of Negroes, -either.”</p> -<p>“I reckon you’re right, Ken. These fools don’t know they’re playing -with dynamite.” His voice took on a querulous tone. “We’ve been getting -along all right here, ‘cept when some of these po’ whites out of the -mill or from the tu’pentine camps or some bad nigras tank up on bad -liquor or moonshine.” He did not say “Negro” nor yet the opprobrious -“nigger,” but struck somewhere between the two—“nigra.” “And now these -fools are just stirring up trouble Lord knows where it’ll end.”</p> -<p>He ran his hand through his hair—a favourite trick of his when -excited, and paced up and down the room.</p> -<p><span id="Page_157" class="pagenum">[157]</span> “I’ve been telling -some of the boys they’d better stay away from that fool business of -gallivanting around with a pillow-slip over their heads. They talk about -being against bootleggers and men runing around with loose -women—humph!—every blamed bootlegger and blind tiger and whoremaster in -town rushed into the Klan ’cause they know’d that was the only way they -could keep from getting called up on the carpet! A fine bunch they -are!”</p> -<p>The judge spat disgustedly.</p> -<p>“Now about this plan you got—have you thought about the chances of -your being misunderstood? Suppose some of these ornery whites get it -into their heads you’re trying to start trouble between the races. -What’re you going to do then?” he asked.</p> -<p>“That’s just why we want to do the job right,” answered Kenneth. “We -want to do everything legally so there can’t be any wrong ideas about -the society. I know every time coloured people start forming any kind of -an organization besides a church or a burial society, there are white -people who begin to get suspicious and think that Negroes are organizing -to start some mischief. That’s why we want you and the other good white -people to know all about our plans from the start.”</p> -<p>“I ain’t trying to discourage you none,” replied Judge Stevenson -doubtfully, “but do you think you are wise in starting coloured folks to -thinking about organizing when this Klan’s raising hell all over the -South?”</p> -<p><span id="Page_158" class="pagenum">[158]</span> “How else are we -going to do anything?” asked Kenneth. “Farmers have been robbed so long -they are getting tired of it. If something isn’t done, there’s going to -be lots more trouble than a society like ours can possibly cause. This -share-cropping business causes more trouble than any other thing that’s -done to Negroes. Lynching is mighty bad, but after all only a few -Negroes are lynched a year, while thousands are robbed every year of -their lives.”</p> -<p>“That’s so. That’s so,” agreed the judge, but the doubt had not been -dispelled from his voice nor removed from his face. He removed his cigar -from his mouth, viewed its mangled appearance through much chewing upon -it, threw it with an expression of disgust out of the window, narrowly -missing a man passing in the street below. He chuckled as he placed a -fresh cigar in his mouth.</p> -<p>“’Taint no harm in trying, though,” he said, half to himself.</p> -<p>“Besides, our plan is to enlist the support of every white man in the -county who stands for something,” went on Kenneth, eager to gain the old -man as a staunch ally. “We know there’ll be opposition from some of the -landlords and merchants and bankers who are making money off this -system, but we figure there are enough decent white people here to help -us through. …”</p> -<p>“Mebbe so. Mebbe so,” replied the judge, though there was a distinct -note of doubt in his voice now. “I wouldn’t be too sure, though. I -wouldn’t be too sure.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_159" class="pagenum">[159]</span> “But, Judge⸺” -interrupted Kenneth. The judge silenced him with a movement of his -hand.</p> -<p>“Ken, have you ever thought out what a decent white man goes through -with in a town like Central City? Have you thought what he has to put up -with all over the South? There ain’t a whole lot of them, but just -figure what’d happen to a white man to-day who tried to do anything -about cleaning up this rotten state of affairs we got here. Why, he’d be -run out of town, if he wasn’t lynched!”</p> -<p>“But, Judge,” began Kenneth again, “take lynching, for example. You -know, and I know, and everybody in the South knows that if a Negro is -arrested charged with criminal assault on a white woman, if he’s guilty, -there isn’t one chance in a million of his going free. Why don’t they -bring them to trial and execute them legally instead of hanging and -burning them?”</p> -<p>“Why? Why?” The judge repeated the interrogative as though it were a -word he had never heard before. “You know, and so do I and all the rest -of us here in the South, that nine out of ten cases where these trifling -women holler and claim they been raped, they ain’t been no rape. They -just got caught and they yelled rape to save their reputations. And they -lynch the nigra to hush the matter up.”</p> -<p>Kenneth was amazed at the old man. Not amazed at what he said, for -that is common knowledge in the South. He was astounded that even so -liberal a man as the judge should frankly admit that which is denied in -public but known to be true. He hesitated to <span id="Page_160" -class="pagenum">[160]</span> press the inquiry further, and thought it -expedient to shift the conversation away from such dangerous ground.</p> -<p>“Why don’t men like yourself speak out against the things you know -are wrong, Judge?”.</p> -<p>“What would happen to us if we did? Count me out ‘cause I’m so old I -couldn’t do much. But take right here in Central City the men I’ve -talked with just like I’m talking to you. How many of them could say -what they really want to? I don’t mean on the race question. I mean on -any question—religion, politics—oh—anything at all. Suppose Roy Ewing or -any other white man here said he was tired of voting the Democratic -ticket and was going to vote Republican or Socialist. Suppose he decided -he didn’t believe in the Virgin Birth or that all bad folks were burned -eternally in a lake of fire and brimstone after they died. If they -didn’t think he was crazy, they’d stop trading with him and all the -womenfolks would run from Roy’s wife and daughter like they had the -smallpox. That’s the hell of it, Ken. These po’ white trash stopped -everybody from talking against lynching nigras, and they’ve stopped us -from talking about anything. And far’s I can see, things’re getting -worse every day.”</p> -<p>“Couldn’t you organize those white people who think like you do?” -asked Kenneth.</p> -<p>“No, that ain’t much use either. It all goes back to the same -root—self-interest—how much is it going to cost me? I tell you, Ken, the -most tragic figure I know is the white man in the South who <span -id="Page_161" class="pagenum">[161]</span> wants to be decent. This here -system of lynching and covering up their lynching with lying has grown -so big that any man who tries to tackle it is beat befo’ he starts. -Specially in the little towns. Now in Atlanta there’s some folks can -speak out and say most anything they please, but here⸺” The old lawyer -threw out his hands in a gesture of hopelessness.</p> -<p>“Why can’t the South see where their course is leading them?” asked -Kenneth. “Suppose there wasn’t a white man in the South who was -interested in the Negro. Suppose every white man hated every Negro who -lived. Why couldn’t they see even then that they are doing more harm to -themselves than they could ever do to the Negro? With all its rich -natural resources, with its fertile soil and its wonderful climate, the -South is farther behind in civilization than any other part of the -United States—or the world, for that matter. Aren’t they ever going to -see how they’re hurting themselves by trying to keep the Negro -down?”</p> -<p>“That’s just it,” replied the judge. “A man starts out practising -cheating in a petty way, and before he knows it he’s crooked all the way -through. He starts being mean part of the time, and soon he’s mean all -over. Or he tries being kind and decent, and he turns out to be pretty -decent. It’s just like a man drinking liquor—first thing he knows, he’s -liable to be drunk all the time.”</p> -<p>The judge shifted his cigar to a corner of his mouth and let fly a -stream of tobacco juice from the <span id="Page_162" -class="pagenum">[162]</span> other corner, every drop landing squarely -in the box of sawdust some ten feet away. He went on:</p> -<p>“That’s just what’s the matter with the South. She’s been brutal and -tricky and deceitful so long in trying to keep the nigras down, she -couldn’t be decent if she tried. If acting like this was going to get -them anywhere, there might be some reason in it all, but they’ve shut -their eyes, they refuse to see that nigras like you ain’t going to be -handled like yo’ daddy and folks like him were.”</p> -<p>“What are we going to do—what can we do?” asked Kenneth. Never had he -suspected that even so fine a man as Judge Stevenson had thought things -through as their conversation had indicated. He felt the situation was -not entirely hopeless when men like the judge felt and talked as he did. -Perhaps they were the leaven that would affect the lump of ignorance and -viciousness that was the South.</p> -<p>“What are we going to do?” echoed the elder man. “God knows—I don’t! -Mebbe the lid will blow off some day—then there would be hell to pay! -One thing’s going to help, and that’s nigras pulling up stakes and going -North. When some of these white folks begin to see their fields going to -seed, they’ll begin to realize how much they need the nigra—just like -some of ’em are seeing already.”</p> -<p>“But are they seeing it in the right way?” asked Kenneth. “Instead of -trying to make things better so Negroes are willing to stay in the -South, they’re trying more oppressive methods than ever before. They’re -beating up labour agents, charging them a <span id="Page_163" -class="pagenum">[163]</span> thousand dollars for licences, lynching -more Negroes, and robbing them more than ever.”</p> -<p>“Oh, they’ll be fools enough until the real pinch comes. Far’s I can -see, instead of stopping nigras from going North, them things are -hurrying them up. Wait till it hits their pocket-books hard. Then the -white people’ll get some sense.”</p> -<p>“Let’s hope so,” was Kenneth’s rejoinder as he rose to go. “It’s been -mighty comforting to talk like this with you, Judge. Things don’t seem -so hopeless when we’ve got friends like you.”</p> -<p>“’Tain’t nothing. Nothing at all,” replied the judge. “Just like to -talk with somebody’s got some sense. It’s a pity you’re coloured, Ken, -you got too much sense to be a nigra.”</p> -<p>Kenneth laughed.</p> -<p>“From all we’ve been saying, a coloured man’s got to have some sense -or else he’s in a mighty poor fix nowadays.”</p> -<p>He did not resent the old man’s remark, for he knew the judge could -not understand that he was much more contented as a member of a race -that was struggling upward than he would have been as one of that race -that expended most of its time and thought and energy in exploiting and -oppressing others. The judge followed him to the door promising to draw -up the necessary legal documents for the co-operative society. When -Kenneth broached the subject of payment, the old man waved his hand -again in protest.</p> -<p>“Ain’t got long to live, so’s I got to do what little <span -id="Page_164" class="pagenum">[164]</span> I can to help. ’Tain’t much I -can do, but I’ll help all I can.”</p> -<p>Thanking him, Kenneth started to leave, but the judge recalled him -after he had reached the hallway. “Ken, just consider all I said as -between us. Can’t tell what folks’d say if they knew I been running on -like this.”</p> -<p>There was almost a note of pleading in his voice. Kenneth assured the -judge their conversation would be treated as confidential. As he walked -home, he reflected on the anomalous position the judge and men like him -occupied, hemmed in, oppressed, afraid to call their souls their own, -creatures of the Frankenstein monster their own people had created which -seemed about to rise up and destroy its creators. No, he said to -himself, he would much rather be a Negro with all his problems than be -made a moral coward as the race problem had made the white people of the -South.</p> -<p>The judge stood at the window, dim with the dust of many months, and -gazed at Kenneth’s broad back as he swung down Lee Street. Long after he -had disappeared, the old man stood there, chewing on the cigar which by -now was a mangled mass of wet tobacco. At last he turned away and -resumed his seat in the comfortable old chair where Kenneth had found -him. He shook his head slowly, doubtfully, and murmured, half to -himself, half to the dusty, empty room:</p> -<p>“Hope this thing turns out all right. Hope he don’t get in no -trouble. But even if he does, there’ll <span id="Page_165" -class="pagenum">[165]</span> be more like him coming on—and they got too -much sense to stand for what nigras been made to suffer. Lord, if we -only had a few white folks who had some sense …”</p> -<p>It was almost a prayer.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_166" class="pagenum">[166]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XII -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">F</span><span -class="smallcaps">rom</span> Judge Stevenson’s office Kenneth went -directly to tell Jane of the interview. So absorbed was he in -contemplation of the wider vision of the problem he was attacking which -the judge’s words had given him, he forgot to telephone her to ask if it -was agreeable for him to call at so unconventional an hour. He found her -clad in a bungalow apron busily cleaning house and singing as she -worked.</p> -<p>They sat on the steps of the back porch while he told her all that -had been said. Taken out of his preoccupation with his own affairs, -Kenneth had shaken off his negative air and now he talked convincingly -of their plans. Jane said nothing until he had finished.</p> -<p>“That’s fine!” she exclaimed when he had ended. “Even if Judge -Stevenson is doubtful of how much we can accomplish, we can do -something. Now all that remains is for you to present your plan⸺”</p> -<p>“Not mine, yours,” he corrected</p> -<p>“No, it will have to be yours,” she answered. “You know how folks are -in the South—they think all that women can do is cook and keep house and -bear children. If you want the thing to go, it’ll be best to make them -think it’s your scheme.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_167" class="pagenum">[167]</span> Kenneth demurred, -but in vain. She would have it no other way. She felt no jealousy. She -knew of the peculiar Southern prejudice which relegated women to a -position of eternal inferiority. Though she felt the injustice of such -arbitrary assumptions, she did not resent it. Like all women, coloured -women, she realized that most of the spirit of revolt against the wrongs -inflicted on her race had been born in the breasts of coloured women. -She knew, and in that knowledge was content, that most of the work of -the churches and societies and other organizations which had done so -much towards welding the Negro into a racial unit had been done by -women. It was amusing to see men, vain creatures that they are, preen -themselves on what they had done. It was not so amusing when they, in -their pride, sought to belittle what the women had done and take all the -credit to themselves. Oh, well, what did it matter? The end was the -all-important thing—not the means. Jane appreciated Kenneth’s -thoughtfulness and felt no tinge of jealousy if her idea—their -idea—should be a success in forming societies to help poor, helpless -Negroes out of the morass in which they were bogged. Of such material -has the coloured woman been made by adversity.</p> -<p>She watched Kenneth as he told her the developments of which he had -thought, the details he had worked out. Each day, it seemed to her, -Kenneth became more keenly alive each day saw a brighter sparkle in his -eyes, a springiness in his step that had not been there before. There -are many men who <span id="Page_168" class="pagenum">[168]</span> could -willingly have followed—and do follow—without revolt or much inward -conflict a course of self-abnegation such as he had mapped out for -himself. Not so, however, with Kenneth. He was almost puritanical in his -devotion to the fixed moral code he had worked out for his own guidance. -It was not a superimposed one, but an integral part of his very being. -Nothing could have induced him to surrender to deliberate malice or -guile or what he considered dishonesty or cowardice. His was a simple -nature, free from the barnacles of pettiness which encumber the average -man. He was not essentially religious in the accepted meaning of the -word. He believed, though he had not thought much on the subject of -religion, so immersed had he been in his beloved profession, in some -sort of a God. Of what form or shape this being was, he did not know. He -had more or less accepted the beliefs his environment had forced upon -him. He doubted the malignity of the God described by most of the -ministers he had heard. As a matter of fact, he was rather repelled and -nauseated by the religion of the modern Church. Narrow, intolerant of -contrary opinion, prying into the lives and affairs of its communicants -with which it had no concern, its energies concentrated on raising money -and not on saving souls, of little real help to intelligent people to -enable them to live more useful lives here on earth, and centering -instead on a mysterious and problematical life after death, he felt the -Church of Jesus Christ had so little of the spirit of the Christ that he -had little <span id="Page_169" class="pagenum">[169]</span> patience -with it. He went to services more as a perfunctory duty than through any -deep-rooted belief that he could get any real help from them in meeting -the problems of life he faced. He bore the Church no grudge or ill -will—it simply was not a factor in the life of to-day as he saw it.</p> -<p>Nevertheless he had a deep religious or, better, an ethical sense. -When he was about to return to Central City, that ethical code had been -adapted to conditions he expected to find there. It was galling to him -to accept a position of subserviency to things he knew were unjust and -wrong, tacitly to admit his inferiority to men to whom he knew he was -superior in morals and training and in all the decencies of life, solely -because of the mere accident that they had been born with skins which -were white and he with one which was not white. When doubts had assailed -him, he had quieted or salved his conscience by the constant reminder -that he was following such a course for greater eventual good. On his -return, when he had found a course such as he had charted for himself -was becoming increasingly difficult, he had refused to face the facts -his mind told him were true and had plunged more deeply into his work, -seeking in it an opiate. Only when Jane had confronted him with the -utter futility of his course and had, in effect, accused him of being a -moral quitter in considering only himself and blinding himself to the -far greater problems of those so closely bound to him by race, did his -eyes begin to be opened. Wearied of illusory hopes of peace through -compromise, <span id="Page_170" class="pagenum">[170]</span> he had -grasped the tangible reality of work towards a definite end, through -means which he had created and which he would guide and develop as far -as he could. With the buoyant hopes and ambitions of the young, -especially of the very young, he felt that he had already created that -which he was hoping to create.</p> -<p>Like a traveller who has lost his way in a dense forest, an -indefinable restlessness had pervaded his being and made him sorely -discontented. Now that he had found what seemed the path which would -lead him into the clear, open air, the clouds of doubt and perplexity -were cleared away just as the bright sun, as it bursts forth after a -shower in spring, drives away the moisture in the air.</p> -<p>They sat there in the warm sunlight of early summer, dreaming and -planning all the great things they were going to accomplish. It had -rained earlier in the morning and from the ground rose a misty vapour. -The odour of warm wet earth mingled with the aroma of the flowers. Hens -scratched industriously for food to feed the cluster of tiny chicks -around them. A cat sneaking along the fence slyly crept near. With a -great fluttering of wings and raucous cackling, the hens drove him away. -From afar off came the voices of two women, resting for a minute from -their morning toil, gossiping with much loud laughter. It was a -peaceful, restful scene. To Kenneth as he sat there, problems seemed -remote and out of place in that place where all was so calm.</p> -<p>He looked at the girl by his side. It seemed <span id="Page_171" -class="pagenum">[171]</span> Jane had never looked more charming clad in -her bungalow apron, dust-cloth in hand. He was glad she had made no -silly, conventional excuses because of her dress. The usual girl would -have tried to rush indoors and change her dress. Most women, he -reflected, looked like angels at night, but in the harsh glare of -morning looked terrible. Jane seemed to him to be even prettier without -powder or the soft light of evening. He felt a thrill of pleasure as he -saw her dusting furniture in their home.</p> -<p>They rose as Kenneth started to leave. Jane was telling him of some -trivial incident, but Kenneth heard nothing of what she said. He turned -towards her suddenly.</p> -<p>She divined his intentions—she could almost feel the words that were -on his lips. Quickly wishing him success in the meeting to be held that -next evening, she bade him good-bye.</p> -<p>After Kenneth had gone, Jane sat for some time struggling with the -problem she was facing. What was she to do? As a little girl she had -loved Kenneth with a simple, childlike love though he, with the infinite -difference of eight years of age, had paid no attention to her. She was -not at all sure now of the nature of her feelings towards him. She liked -him, it is true, but when it came to anything deeper than that, she was -not so certain. She had been told, and had always believed, that love -came as a blinding, searing, devastating passion which swept everything -before it. She felt none of this passion and <span id="Page_172" -class="pagenum">[172]</span> experienced no bit of that complete -surrender which she had believed was a part of the thing called love. -Jane was much in the position of the sinner on the mourner’s bench who -had been told that when he became a Christian, angels and all sorts of -heavenly apparitions would miraculously appear before him, and, seeing -none, feels that he is being cheated.</p> -<p>Jane had seen in Kenneth’s eyes that soon he would make some sort of -declaration of his love. What was she going to say? She did not know. -…</p> -<p>So pleasant had it been sitting there in the warm sunlight talking -with Jane, Kenneth had forgotten the time. Entering his office, he found -half a dozen patients waiting somewhat impatiently for him. As he -entered his private office, he heard old Mrs. Amos, in her chronic -quarrelsomeness, mutter:</p> -<p>“Dat’s just what I allus say. Soon’s a nigger begin to get up in the -world, he thinks hisself better’n us po’ folks. Thinks he can treat us -any way he please.”</p> -<p>Kenneth laughed and, with a few bantering words, mollified the -irascible old woman. The coloured doctor has to be a diplomat as well as -a physician—he must never allow the humblest of his patients to gain the -impression that he thinks himself better than they. Of all races that -make up the heterogenous populace of America, none is more self-critical -than the Negro—its often unjust and carping criticism of those who stand -out from the mass serves as an excellent antidote for undue pride and -conceit. …</p> -<p>The next evening the seven men met again at Mr. <span id="Page_173" -class="pagenum">[173]</span> Wilson’s. Kenneth stopped by for -Mr. Phillips, but he did not see Jane. The Reverend Stewart, Tucker, -Tracy, Swann, and Mr. Wilson sat awaiting them. Tom Tracy was -exhibiting, somewhat proudly it seemed, a note he had found tacked to -his door that morning. It was crudely lettered in red ink on a -cheap-quality paper. It read:</p> -<div class="crude"> -NIGGER! YOU’VE BEN TALKING TOO DAM MUCH! IF YOU DON’T SHUT YOUR MOUTH WE -WILL SHUT IT FOR YOU AND FOR GOOD! LET THIS BE A WARNING TO YOU. NEXT -TIME WE WILL ACT! -</div> -<div class="crude alignright"> -K. K. K. -</div> -<p>Beneath the three initials was a crude skull and cross-bones. Though -all seven of the men knew that the warning was not to be disregarded, -that it might possibly portend a serious attempt on the life of Tracy, -that any or all of them present might receive a similar grim reminder of -the ill will of the hooded band, there was a complete absence of fear as -they sat around the table and conjectured as to the possible result of -the warning. The calmness with which they accepted the omen of trouble -would probably have amazed the senders of the warning. Perhaps the -clearest indication of how little the South realizes the changes that -have taken place in the Negro is this recrudescence of the Klan. Where -stark terror followed in the wake of the Klan rides of the seventies, -the net result of similar rides to-day is a more de<span id="Page_174" -class="pagenum">[174]</span>termined union of Negroes against all that -the Klan stands for, tinctured with a mild amusement at the Klan’s -grotesque antics. It was fortunate for Kenneth, in a measure, that Tracy -had received the threat on the day it came. With such a reminder before -them, the seven felt there was greater need than ever before for -organization for mutual protection.</p> -<p>They discussed means of protecting Tracy, but he assured them he was -amply able to take care of himself. He had sent his parents that day to -stay with friends until the trouble had blown over, telling them nothing -of the warning, as he did not want them to be worried by it. Two of his -friends had agreed to stay with him at night. He was well supplied with -ammunition and was sure the three of them could successfully repel any -attack that might be made upon him. Such trying periods have happened to -Negroes so frequently in the South that they have become inured to them. -The subject was soon dropped.</p> -<p>Then Kenneth presented his plan. He outlined in detail how the -society should be organized. He proposed that the first lodge be formed -at Ashland, then gradually spread until there was a branch in every -section of the county. They left until later the problem of extending -the society’s activities to other parts of Georgia and the neighbouring -States. Each member would be required to pay an initiation fee of one -dollar. Men would pay monthly dues of fifty cents each, women -twenty-five. The sums thus secured were to be pooled. Half of the amount -<span id="Page_175" class="pagenum">[175]</span> was to purchase -supplies like sugar, flour, shoes, clothing, fertilizer, seeds, farm -implements, and the other things needed to satisfy the simple wants of -the members. To make up any deficit, Kenneth and Mr. Phillips agreed to -lend money that the supplies might be purchased for cash, effecting -thereby a considerable saving. The other half was to be used as the -nucleus of a defence fund with which a test case might be made in the -courts when any member was unable to secure a fair settlement with his -landlord.</p> -<p>Similarly were other details presented and discussed and adopted or -modified. A name had to be chosen. Kenneth would have preferred a short, -simple one, but here he was overruled. That it might appeal to the -simple, illiterate class to which most of the prospective members -belonged, a sonorous, impressive name was necessary. They decided on -“The National Negro Farmers’ Co-operative and Protective League.”</p> -<p>At first the plan was considered a bit too ambitious, but as Kenneth -warmed up to it in presenting it as simply and forcefully as he could, -the objections, one by one, were overcome. One change, however, had to -be made. It came from Hiram Tucker.</p> -<p>“Ain’t you figgerin’ on havin’ no signs and passwords and a grip like -dey have with de Odd Fellers and de Masons and de Knights of Pythias?” -he asked.</p> -<p>“I didn’t think that was necessary,” replied Kenneth.</p> -<p><span id="Page_176" class="pagenum">[176]</span> “Well, lemme tell -you somethin’, son. Ef you figgers on gettin’ a big passel of these -cullud folks ’round here to jine in with us, you’ll have t’ have some -‘ficials with scrumptious names, and passwords and grips. Dese here -ign’ant folks needs somethin’ like dat to catch their ’magination. If -you put dat in, they’ll jine like flies ’round molasses.”</p> -<p>Kenneth had hoped that the society would be run on a dignified and -intelligent basis, but he realized that Hiram Tucker might be right -after all. Most of the share-croppers were ignorant—at least, -illiterate. Mere show and pomp and colourful uniforms and high-sounding -names played a large part in their lives, which, after all, wasn’t so -much a racial as a human trait. Hadn’t the Ku Klux Klan outdone, in -absurdity of name and ceremony and dress, anything that Negroes had ever -even thought of?</p> -<p>This question was disposed of, after more discussion, by the adoption -of Hiram Tucker’s suggestion. Kenneth was appointed to work out the -details of organization, and the meeting adjourned. The National Negro -Farmer’s Co-operative and Protective League had been born.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_177" class="pagenum">[177]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XIII -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">T</span><span -class="smallcaps">he</span> days that followed were full of interest for -Kenneth and Jane. The constitution and bylaws were drafted and approved -and sent to Atlanta to be printed by a coloured printing firm. Judge -Stevenson prepared the articles of incorporation and did the necessary -legal work, still refusing any pay for his services. Kenneth had offered -to pay him out of his own pocket, but the judge told him: “Keep your -money, Ken, I c’n wait. I’m gettin’ along in years now and I’ve been -hopin’ that this problem that’s cursin’ the South would be settled befo’ -I passed on. But what with these damn fool Kluxers kickin’ up hell -’round here, I don’t know whether I’ll see it or not. Your idea may do -some good—I don’t know whether it will or not—but if I c’n help, let me -know.” Kenneth thanked him and had been immeasurably encouraged by the -old man’s attitude.</p> -<p>As soon as the literature they had ordered was received, the first -meeting was called by Tucker and Tracy at Ashland. Jane and her father -drove out with Kenneth, who was to present the plan to the group -gathered. The meeting was held at a little wooden church, whitewashed on -the outside, and furnished within only with rude benches. On the walls -were one or two highly coloured lithographs of reli<span id="Page_178" -class="pagenum">[178]</span>gious subjects. The hall seated not more -than two hundred and was crowded to capacity. Even the windows were -comfortably filled by those unable to obtain a seat on the floor. The -illumination was furnished by four kerosene lamps attached to the walls, -two on each side.</p> -<p>Hiram Tucker acted as chairman, while Tom Tracy took minutes of the -meeting. After a preliminary announcement of the purpose of the -gathering by the chairman, Kenneth was called upon to outline the plan -that had been proposed. At the outset, having had no experience as a -public speaker, he stumbled and faltered and knew not what to do with -his hands. After a few minutes he jammed them into the side pockets of -his coat and, warming to his subject, swung into a clear, forceful, and -convincing recital of the purpose and possibilities of the co-operative -societies. His enthusiasm became infectious. His audience began to share -his zeal. Humble and lowly folks, their vision limited by the life they -led, they had the feeling, as Kenneth talked on, of having been face to -face with a blank wall of immeasurable height and impenetrable -thickness. Under the spell of his words they seemed to see the -miraculous opening of a door in this wall. Hope, which had been crushed -to earth year after year by disappointing settlements for their labour, -began to mount.</p> -<p>As for Kenneth, he had forgotten his self-imposed inhibitions and -prohibitions. Gone was the hesitation and doubt. He had seen a light -where he had thought there was no light. His voice rang true and <span -id="Page_179" class="pagenum">[179]</span> firm, and there was a look of -eager earnestness on his face as the pale, flickering light from the oil -lamps illumined it.</p> -<p>He finished with a flourish so dear to the hearts of coloured -audiences. It was what the old-style coloured preacher used to call “de -’rousements.”</p> -<p>“You husbands and sons and brothers, three years ago you were called -on to fight for liberty and justice and democracy! Are you getting it?” -He was answered by a rousing “No!” “What are you going to do about it?” -he demanded. “Single-handed, you can do nothing! Organized, you can -strike a blow for freedom, not only for yourselves but for countless -generations of coloured children yet unborn! No race in all history has -ever had its liberties and rights handed to it on a silver platter—such -rights can come only when men are willing to struggle and sacrifice and -work and die, if need be, to obtain them! I call on you here to-night to -join in this movement which shall in time strike from our hands and feet -the shackles which bind them, that we may move on as a race together to -that greater freedom which we have so long desired and which so long has -been denied us! Only slaves and cowards whine and beg! Men and women -stand true and firm and struggle onwards and upwards until they reach -their goal!” He paused impressively while the audience sat mute. He -looked over the assemblage for a full minute and then demanded in a -ringing voice: “What do you choose to be slaves or men?”</p> -<p>He sat down. A salvo of applause greeted him. <span id="Page_180" -class="pagenum">[180]</span> A Daniel had arisen to lead them! Kenneth -took on a new importance and affection in the eyes and minds of his -hearers. He had heard their Macedonian cry and answered it.</p> -<p>As he mopped his brow, Kenneth felt that he had made a good -beginning, although he was a bit ashamed of having made so direct an -appeal at the end to emotion instead of to reason. At the same time he -knew that it had been necessary. “’Rousements” were absolutely essential -to awaken the response needed to get the co-operative societies under -way. Without them his humble audience might not have been aroused to the -point of action that was so necessary.</p> -<p>Following Kenneth, Mr. Wilson made a stirring appeal to the crowd to -come forward and give their names if they wanted to join the newly -formed society. Those who had the money were urged to join at once. At -first, only a few came forward. Then they came in numbers until around -the table at which sat Secretary Tracy there was an excited, chattering, -milling throng.</p> -<p>After the meeting Mr. Phillips accepted Mr. Wilson’s invitation to -ride home in his car. Kenneth did not object—it enabled him to be alone -with Jane. They talked of the meeting as they walked to the car. Jane -gave Kenneth’s hand a faint squeeze. “Oh, Kenneth, you were splendid!” -she declared.</p> -<p>It was a perfect night—one created for making love. A soft light -filtered through the leaves of <span id="Page_181" -class="pagenum">[181]</span> the trees, casting a lace-like shadow on -the earth. The air was soft and languorous, as it can be only on a -spring evening in the South, as soft and caressing as the touch of a -baby’s hands. From near at hand came the mingled odour of honeysuckle -and cape jasmine and magnolia blossoms and roses. The world seemed at -peace. No sound disturbed the air save the chattering and singing of a -mockingbird, as lovely as the sob of velvety, full-throated violins, and -the voices, growing fainter and fainter, of the crowd leaving the now -deserted church. It would have taken a much stronger man than Kenneth to -resist the spell of so perfect an evening. He was not mawkishly -sentimental—rather he detested the moon-calfish type of man who rolled -his eyes and whispered empty, silly compliments in the ear of whatever -girl he met. On the other hand, he was amazingly ignorant of women. As a -youngster he had been exceedingly chary of the little girls of the -neighbourhood, preferring to spend his time playing baseball or shooting -marbles. This shyness had never entirely left him. From his youth on he -had had but one strong passion in his life that passion had possessed -his every thought and in it was centred his every ambition—his desire -and determination to become a great surgeon. His one serious venture -into the realm of love-making had been the affair with the girl in New -York, but that had not taken a strong enough hold upon him to leave much -of a mark. So rapidly had it begun and ended that he had had in it -little experience in the great American sport of <span id="Page_182" -class="pagenum">[182]</span> “petting.” It was thus easy for him to fall -head over heels in love with Jane, for she was, in fact, the first girl -in his life outside of his sister who had come into his life in more -than a casual way.</p> -<p>Jane, on the other hand, had, innocently enough, flirted as every -pretty girl (and many who are not pretty) will do. She appreciated -Kenneth’s fine qualities: he was capable, industrious, and handsome in a -way. He annoyed her at times by his almost bovine stupidity in -expressing his love. She naturally liked the idea of having the love of -a man who is naïve, who has not run the whole gamut of emotions in -affairs with other girls; yet, also naturally enough, she did expect him -to have at least some <i>savoir faire</i>, to be able to win her with -some degree of the finesse that every girl wants and expects. She -resented his business-like matter-of-factness in seeking her—as coldly -calculating, it seemed to her, as though he were operating on one of his -patients. In this she was doing him an injustice. Underneath his surface -placidity Kenneth’s love had become a raging flame—he cursed the shell -of professional dignity which had crossed over and become a part of -himself.</p> -<p>Thus they walked through the soft spring air, she wishing he would do -that which he in his ignorance felt would be the unwisest thing he could -attempt. Thus is life made up of paradoxical situations where a word, a -look, an otherwise insignificant gesture, would clear away at one fell -swoop mountainous clouds of doubt and misunderstanding.</p> -<p><span id="Page_183" class="pagenum">[183]</span> Jane stood, one foot -on the ground, the other on the step, her hand resting on the opened -door of the car. A faintly provocative smile flitted over her face. -Kenneth longed to seize this elusive, seductive girl in his arms, press -her close to him, and tell her of his love. She wanted him to. Instead -he steeled himself against yielding to the impulse that almost overcame -him, and helped her with complete decorum into the car. …</p> -<p>They did not say much on the way home. Jane bade him good night, he -thought somewhat coldly—as though she were vexed. He told her he was -leaving the next morning for Atlanta to operate on Mrs. Tucker. She made -no comment. He wondered as he drove home what he had done to offend her. -…</p> -<p>As he neared the house, he suddenly remembered that he had promised -to look in on old Mrs. Amos, whose “rheumatics” had been giving her -considerable pain. It was charity work, as she would never be able to -pay him. She had sent for him several times during the day, but he had -been kept so busy he had had no time to go. He was annoyed at himself -for promising to call to see the quarrelsome old woman who was far more -dictatorial and exacting than most of the patients who paid him -promptly. With a muttered imprecation at being bothered with her just -after his annoying experience with Jane and her inexplicable behaviour, -he drove through the darkened streets to Mrs. Amos’ home. He found her -sitting in a creaky rocking-chair. She began immediately to pour -maledictions on his head for neglect<span id="Page_184" -class="pagenum">[184]</span>ing her all day. He answered her shortly, -gave her her medicine, and left.</p> -<p>Carefully guiding the car through the gullies and holes in the -unpaved street, he set out for home. Nearing the corner of Harris and -State Streets, he heard a sound as of several automobiles. He looked -down Harris Street just in time to see three closed cars stop suddenly -at the corner. From one of them two white-robed figures descended, -lifting a large, black bundle that seemed exceedingly heavy. This done, -the figures jumped hurriedly into the car, and it with the other two -speeded away in the direction from which they had come.</p> -<p>Kenneth, his curiosity aroused, turned his car around and drove to -the spot to see what was going on. As he slowed his car at the corner, a -muffled groan came from the object lying there in the street. Hastily -getting down, he turned it over and in the half-light found it to be the -body of a human being. His hands felt sticky. Holding them close to his -face, he found them smeared with tar.</p> -<p>He got from his car a small flashlight. Going back to the inert mass, -he turned the ray of light on the body and found it to be that of a -naked woman, covered with tar yet warm to the touch. Between the dabs of -the sticky mess on the woman’s back were long welts, some of them -bleeding, as though a heavy-thonged whip had been applied with great -force. The hair was dishevelled and in its strands were bits of the -melted tar. Kenneth experienced a feeling of nausea at the revolting -sight. The woman lay on her <span id="Page_185" -class="pagenum">[185]</span> face. From her mouth and nose there ran a -stream of blood which already was forming a little pool beneath her face -that became bloody mud as it mixed with the dust in the road. Seizing -her by her left shoulder, Kenneth half raised the body and turned his -flashlight on the woman’s face. It was Nancy Ware, the wife of the Negro -killed by George Parker. Half carrying, half dragging the limp form, -Kenneth managed in some fashion to get Nancy to her own home a few doors -away. The door stood open as though Nancy had left it for a minute to -call on one of her neighbours. On the table in the front room, there -stood a lamp yet burning, the chimney blackened with the soot caused by -the wind blowing upon it. Beside the lamp lay a garment on which Nancy -had been sewing.</p> -<p>Kenneth placed her on the bed and hurried next door to summon help. -His efforts were unsuccessful. He pounded on the door with both fists, -calling out in his excitement to the occupants to open up. After what -seemed an infinite delay, a window to the left of the door cautiously -opened and an inquiring voice wanted to know what was the matter. Seeing -who it was, the owner of the voice disappeared and a minute later opened -the door. Kenneth hastily told what had happened, brushing aside a -muttered excuse that the delay in answering was due to the fact that “I -didn’ know but whut you might ‘a’ been the p’lice.”</p> -<p>On going back to Nancy’s cottage, Kenneth gave her a restorative and -endeavoured to relieve her suf<span id="Page_186" -class="pagenum">[186]</span>fering. She began to revive after a few -minutes. In the meantime the neighbours called by Kenneth arrived, and -they removed as much as they could of the tar from Nancy’s body. Kenneth -then examined her back, finding it covered with long and ugly gashes -that bled profusedly. He dressed them and Nancy was arranged as -comfortably as possible. He found himself so tired after the hard work -and excitement of the day and evening that he was almost ready to drop -in his tracks. At the same time he had an uncontrollable desire to find -out just what had happened to Nancy Ware. He was almost certain the Ku -Klux Klan had done it, but he wanted to hear the story from Nancy’s own -lips. The neighbours had gone, with the exception of an evil-looking, -elderly woman who had volunteered to remain with Nancy until -morning.</p> -<p>After the application of restoratives regularly for an hour, she -began to show signs of returning consciousness. Kenneth watched her -eagerly. Five minutes later her eyelids fluttered. She gave a low -moan—almost a whimper. Suddenly she cried out in the terror of delirium: -“Doan let ‘em whip me no mo’! Doan let ’em whip me no mo?!” and writhed -in her agony. She struggled to arise but Kenneth, sitting by the side of -the bed, managed with the aid of the other woman to restrain Nancy and -calm her. Afterwards she became more rational. Her eyes opened. In them -was a gleam of recognition of Kenneth and he knew she was regaining -consciousness.</p> -<p><span id="Page_187" class="pagenum">[187]</span> Another wait. Then, -at Kenneth’s questioning, she began to tell what had happened. For weeks -he had thought but little of her and the tragedy that had taken place in -this same house, other events having crowded it out of his mind.</p> -<p>“Doc, you won’t let ’em get me again, will you?” she pleaded with a -whimper like a child’s. Kenneth assured her he wouldn’t.</p> -<p>“Doc, I ain’t done nuthin’ t’ them Kluxers. Hones’ t’ Gawd, I ain’t.” -Kenneth told her soothingly that he knew she hadn’t.</p> -<p>“I was jes’ sittin’ here tendin’ to my own business when dey come a -rap on de do’. W’en I open de do’, dere wuz two o; dem Kluxers standin’ -dere—befo’ I could holler dey grab me and put a rag in my mouf.” A -shudder passed through her body as the terror came back to her at the -memory of what she had been through.</p> -<p>“Dey put me in a automobile and ca’ied me way out yonder in de woods -by de fact’ry. Dey pull all my clo’es off me and den dey whip me till I -couldn’ stan’ up no mo’. Den dey tell me I been talkin’ too much. Doc, I -ain’t said a word t’ nobdy ‘cept dat dey oughter do somethin’t that man -George Parker for killin’ my man Bud. … Den dey po’ed tar all over me -and kick me and spit on me some mo’. … Said I oughter had mo’ sense dan -t’ talk ’bout no white gemmen. Oh—oh—oh—ain’t dey nothin’ to he’p us po’ -cullud fo’ks—ain’t dey nobody—ain’t dey nobody?”</p> -<p>It was just as Kenneth had suspected. Good God, <span id="Page_188" -class="pagenum">[188]</span> and these were the self-elected defenders -of morals in the South! What if Nancy wasn’t all that she should have -been?—whose was the greater fault—hers or George Parker’s? He could see -him now in the bank—smug, a hypocritical smile on his face, talking -about what the white people have got to do to stop these troublesome -“niggers” from getting too cheeky—about protecting “pure” Southern -womanhood from attacks by “black, burly brutes.” And the Klan with all -its boasted and advertised chivalry—twenty or thirty strong men to beat -up and maltreat one lone woman, because she “talked too much” about the -brutal, cold-blooded murder of her husband! Kenneth’s optimism over the -organization of the cooperative societies began to cool—in its stead -there came a blind, unreasoning hatred and furious rage against the men -who had done this deed to Nancy Ware. God, but he would have given -anything he owned to get them all together and kill them one by -one—slowly, with all the tortures he could devise! The damned, cowardly -devils! The filthy, smug-faced hypocrites!</p> -<p>Nancy was resting easily Kenneth, shaken by the fury of his anger, -more devastating because he knew that he could do nothing but hurl -silent imprecations on the heads of those who had done this -deed—impotent because his skin was black and he lived in the South—went -home to roll and toss during the few hours of the night which remained -before he took the train to Atlanta.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_189" class="pagenum">[189]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XIV -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">I</span><span class="smallcaps">t</span> -seemed to Kenneth he had just fallen into a troubled slumber when he was -aroused by the tinkling of the telephone bell at the side of his bed. It -was Hiram Tucker.</p> -<p>“Doc, I reck’n you won’t have to go t’ Atlanty today, after all. My -wife, she tol’ me to tell you she’s changed her min’ ‘bout that -op’ration. … What’s dat? … Naw, suh, she’s kinder skeered she won’ wake -up from dat chlo’form. … Yas, suh, yas, suh, I knows ‘rangements been -made but, Doc, you ain’t married, so you don’t know nuthin’ ‘tall ’bout -wimmenfolks. … Some day you’ll learn dat when dey says dey ain’t gwine -do somethin’ dey’s done sot dere minds on not doing, dey ain’t gwine t’ -do it. … Hello. … Hello. … Hello!”</p> -<p>But Kenneth had hung up. He telephoned the local telegraph office to -send a wire to the hospital in Atlanta to cancel the arrangements he had -made for the operation on the following day, and tumbled back in bed to -sleep like a log until late in the morning. He was awakened by Bob, who -informed him that the reception room was half filled with patients who -were no longer patient at being kept waiting so long. He arose -reluctantly, his eyes still filled with sleep. Bob leaned against the -wall, hands in pockets, and <span id="Page_190" -class="pagenum">[190]</span> looked at his brother with a smile of -amusement. Kenneth, not thoroughly awakened as yet, paid no attention to -him for a time, but at last noticed Bob’s smile.</p> -<p>“Why this early morning humour? I’ve seen many ’possums with a more -engaging smile then the one that distorts your face now!” he -half-grumblingly, half-cheerfully observed.</p> -<p>Bob but grinned the more at Kenneth’s remark.</p> -<p>“I was just thinking that if Jane could only get one glimpse of you -in the morning before breakfast, your chances would be mighty slim with -her.”</p> -<p>“Jane? What have my looks to do with her?” Kenneth retorted with some -heat, in a vain attempt to spar for time.</p> -<p>Bob addressed the world in general, calling on it for some aid in -understanding this brother of his.</p> -<p>“Jane?” he mimicked Kenneth’s tone of surprise. “You talk like a -ten-year-old boy with his first love affair. Isn’t he the innocent one, -though? Why, you poor maligned creature, everybody in Central City who -isn’t blind knows that you are head over heels in love with Jane -Phillips. And,” he added as an afterthought, “those who are blind have -been told it. But to return to my original observation, if there was -some means by which, with all propriety, all the girls in the world who -are in love could see, and be seen by, the poor boobs with whom they are -so infatuated, marriage-licence bureaus would be closed that day, never -to open again.” This last with an omniscient air of worldly wisdom that -caused <span id="Page_191" class="pagenum">[191]</span> Kenneth to burst -into a roar of laughter, while Bob watched him, somewhat -discomfited.</p> -<p>“What’re you laughing at?” he demanded in an aggrieved tone. Kenneth -laughed all the harder. “Why, you poor little innocent, you haven’t -gotten rid of your pin feathers, and yet you are talking as though you -were a philosopher like Schopenhauer. You’d better wait until you finish -school and see something of the world. Then you can talk a little—though -only a little as you did just now. By the way, it’s about time for you -to be planning for school this fall. Still thinking about going back to -Atlanta?”</p> -<p>“I don’t know what I want to do,” was Bob’s troubled rejoinder. “I’ve -seen too much of what’s going on around this town since papa died to be -satisfied with school again. I’ve probably seen more of the real -sordidness and meanness and deviltry of this place since I’ve been -settling up papa’s affairs than you’ll see in five years. At any rate, I -hope you don’t,” he finished somewhat doubtfully.</p> -<p>“Bob”—Kenneth walked over and put his arm around his brother’s -shoulders—the trouble with you is that you’re too darned sensitive. I -know things aren’t all they ought to be around here, but we’ve got to -buckle down and make them that way. And perhaps I’ve seen more of this -deviltry than you think.”</p> -<p>He told Bob of what had happened to Nancy Ware the night before. A -long whistle of surprise escaped from Bob’s lips.</p> -<p><span id="Page_192" class="pagenum">[192]</span> “And this happened -right here in the coloured section?” he asked in surprise. Kenneth -nodded in assent.</p> -<p>“I felt they were planning some mischief but I didn’t think they -would have the nerve to come right here in ‘Darktown’ and do it. I -wonder,” he said musingly, “if that dirty little Jim Archer who said -those filthy things to Minnie Baxter that day is a member of the Klan. I -passed him on Lee Street this morning and he grinned at me like a cat -that has just eaten a fat mouse.”</p> -<p>“He may be,” Kenneth replied. “Nancy Ware told me last night she -recognized the voices of Sheriff Parker and Henry Lane and George Parker -and two or three other prominent white people here.”</p> -<p>“That settles it,” Bob answered determinedly. “When you first came -back here I thought you were foolish to do so after having been in -France. I said I was going to get out of this country as soon as I could -and live in France or Brazil or any old place where a man isn’t judged -by the colour of his skin. But I’ve decided that I’d be a coward if I -did run away like that. Ken,” he said in voice that showed he had passed -in spite of his years from childhood into the more serious things of -manhood, “I’m going to Harvard this fall. I’m going to take whatever -course I need to get into the law school. I’m going to make myself the -best lawyer they can turn out. And then I’m coming back here to the -South like you did and give my time to fighting for my people!”</p> -<p>Bob’s eyes flashed. In them was a light of <span id="Page_193" -class="pagenum">[193]</span> high resolve such a look as might have -shone in the eyes of Garibaldi or of Joan of Arc.</p> -<p>Kenneth said nothing, but he gripped Bob’s hand in his and there -passed between the two brothers a look of mutual understanding and -sympathy that was more potent and meaningful than words.</p> -<p>Kenneth went down to attend to his patients and nothing more was said -of the incident between them. Bob took on a new interest in life. His -moodiness, his brooding over the constant irritations and insults he had -to suffer in his dealings as a coloured man with the whites of the town, -his resentment at the attitude of condescension on the part of the poor -and ignorant whites who had neither his intelligence, his education, nor -his wealth—all these disappeared in his eager preparations for the new -life he had mapped out for himself. He already saw himself a powerful -champion of his race and he gloried in that vision with all of the -impetuosity and idealistic fervour of youth.</p> -<p>As for Kenneth, he divided his time between his practice, Jane, and -the formation of more branches of the N.N.F.C.P.L.</p> -<p>Kenneth knew there was nothing to be done towards the punishment of -the men who had so brutally beaten Nancy Ware. He knew that it would -even be unwise for him to talk too much about it. If Sheriff Parker was -himself a member of the Klan, reporting the outrage to him would be in -effect a serving of notice that he was meddling in the affairs of the -Klan which might bring disastrous results at a <span id="Page_194" -class="pagenum">[194]</span> time when Kenneth was most anxious to avoid -such a complication, certainly until the co-operative societies were -well under way and actively functioning. Much as he chafed under the -restraint and at his own impotence in the situation, Kenneth knew that -his interference would be a useless and foolhardy butting of his head -against a stone wall.</p> -<p>It occurred to him to tell what had happened to Judge. Stevenson. He -could be trusted and was as much opposed to the outlawry of the Klan as -Kenneth himself. The judge listened gravely to the end without comment -other than a question here and there. “That looks worse than I thought,” -he said half to himself. “A few mo’ cracks like that and there’ll be -hell to pay ‘round here. But ’twon’t do no good for you t’ meddle in -it,” he observed in answer to Kenneth’s question as to what he could do. -“If Nancy’s right about Bob Parker being in it, your sayin’ anything -will only set them on you. You’d better go ahead and get your societies -on their feet and then you’ll have somethin’ behin’ you. Then you won’t -be playin’ a lone hand.”</p> -<p>As for the coloured people, there were several days of excited gossip -over what had happened to Nancy Ware. There was not much to go on, as -she had been so frightened by her terrible experience that she refused -for once to talk. The only tangible effect was that mysterious parcels -marked with the names of household implements began to arrive at the -homes of the coloured people, but which contained fire-arms and -ammunition. There was also a notice<span id="Page_195" -class="pagenum">[195]</span>able tightening of the lips and the -development of a less cordial relationship between white and black. -Negroes, feeling that there was no help they could expect from the law, -felt that their backs were being slowly pressed against the wall. Within -a few hours the old <i>esprit cordial</i> between white and black had -been wiped out. Negroes who had been happy-go-lucky, care-free, and -kindly in manner began to talk among themselves of “dying fighting” if -forced to the limit.</p> -<p>July came with all its heat. August passed with yet more heat. With -the coming of September there had been formed in Smith County alone -seven branch societies of the Co-operative and Protective League with a -membership of more than twelve hundred. Kenneth worked as one inspired, -one who knew neither heat nor cold, fatigue nor hunger. During the day -he was busy with his practice, but it mattered not how busy he had been, -he was always ready and willing to drive five, ten, fifteen miles at -night to aid in establishing new branches or directing and guiding and -advising those already established.</p> -<p>The Ashland Branch, through the hard work of Hiram Tucker and Tom -Tracy, had enrolled three hundred and fifteen members. In its treasury -it had $657.85, to which it was constantly adding as new members were -enrolled. At a meeting held during the latter part of August the members -decided that they would forgo the purchasing of their supplies in bulk -that year but would use the money raised towards prosecuting one of the -cases of dishonest <span id="Page_196" class="pagenum">[196]</span> -settlements when the time came for such settlements, usually in December -or January. This step was decided upon after due and lengthy -deliberation, as it was felt that if they could end the cheating of the -farmers through court action, then these same farmers would have more -money through the settlement of their accounts for the present season -and could then begin the co-operative buying and distribution the -following year.</p> -<p>News of the new society that was going to end the unsatisfactory -relations share-croppers had with their landlords spread rapidly -throughout the surrounding counties. Letters, crudely and cumbersomely -worded and with atrocious spelling, came to Kenneth and often -individuals came in person to ask that he come to their counties to -organize societies there. Kenneth was elated at this sign of interest. -He had expected a great deal of opposition from the coloured farmers. -Bickering and carping criticism there was aplenty, but most of them -regarded him as a new Moses to lead them into the promised land of -economic independence. Minor disputes over authority in the local -societies there were in abundance. But none of them was hard to settle, -for the members themselves were too eager to get out of bondage to -tolerate much petty politics and selfishness on the part of their -officers.</p> -<p>As a loyal ally Kenneth learned to rely on Jane more and more. Often -she went with him to attend meetings and to talk to groups not yet -organized. While Kenneth talked to the men, Jane circulated <span -id="Page_197" class="pagenum">[197]</span> among the women, who were -subtly flattered that one so daintily clad and well educated should -spend so much of her time and energy talking to lowly ones like -themselves.</p> -<p>Her mother’s health had not been of the best during the summer. That -had been throughout the summer her only worry. In August her mother had -suffered an attack of paralysis, her second one. Jane decided to remain -at home instead of going to Oberlin to resume her music. Dr. Bennett had -been dismissed and Kenneth was now treating Mrs. Phillips. During her -more serious illness in August, Jane often sat on one side of her -mother’s bed until late in the night while Kenneth sat on the other, -ministering to the aged woman’s wants. There came a new and stronger -feeling of companionship between the two. Often Kenneth would look up -suddenly and catch in Jane’s eyes a new tenderness. Without knowing what -it meant, he felt a subtly conveyed encouragement in them.</p> -<p>He had, however, spoken no word of love to her, preferring to bide -his time until a propitious occasion arose. He had told her that he -loved her—had he not done so, she would have known—he was content to -wait until she could decide what she wanted to do. At times the task was -hard not to tell her again and again of his love. Often as she sat by -his side and talked of inconsequential things, he would again be seized -by that consuming impulse to sweep away all her objections and demolish -by the very violence of his love the obstacles that held him back from -possess<span id="Page_198" class="pagenum">[198]</span>ing her. He found -himself more and more filled with a wonderment that bordered on dismay -as he tried to suppress this devastating longing with less success every -time this feeling came over him. He tried staying away from Jane. At -first he had seen her but once a week and that on Sunday evenings. Then -he began dropping by to see her on Wednesdays. Of late his visits had -numbered three and four a week. On those nights when he was away, he was -restless and irritable. This became so noticeable that Mamie threatened -jokingly one night to go over and beg Jane to marry Kenneth or throw him -down hard or anything that would make him less like a bear around the -house. She and Jane had become fast friends—which pleased Kenneth not a -little, as it meant that Jane would be more frequently in the house than -otherwise would have been the case.</p> -<p>As for Jane, in spite of herself, she found herself more and more -interested in Kenneth and the things he was doing. She found herself -eagerly looking forward to the evenings when he called. She wondered if -she were entirely honest in seeing so much of him.</p> -<p>Why didn’t Kenneth say something now? She felt rather annoyed at him -for being so considerate. With a woman’s prerogative of inconsistency, -she resented his obeying so implicitly her demand that he wait until she -had made up her mind. Men were so silly—you told them to do a thing and -they went like fools and did it. Why didn’t he talk about something else -besides his old co-operative societies <span id="Page_199" -class="pagenum">[199]</span> and the Ku Klux Klan and his old hospital -and what that old Judge Stevenson had said to him that day? Life is such -a funny thing.</p> -<p>But Kenneth went along his way, not even suspecting what was going on -in Jane’s mind. He was like the majority of men—wise in their own minds -but amazingly naïve and ignorant when they left the beaten paths of -everyday affairs.</p> -<p>The end of the first week in September came. Bob had completed all -arrangements to leave the following week for Cambridge, there to take -his entrance examinations, after studying for them all summer. Kenneth -had written to an old friend there who had made the necessary -negotiations. Bob was an entirely new individual from the one he had -been when Kenneth had returned to Central City. His air of moody -resentment had been replaced by an eager earnestness to begin the course -he had planned for himself. The bond had grown closer between him and -Kenneth, and many hours they spent together discussing and planning for -the years to come. Often the two brothers and Mamie, sometimes Mrs. -Harper also, sat until far in the night talking of the future. If Mamie -felt saddened by the broader and more active life her brothers were -planning which she, as a woman, was denied, it never showed on her face -or in her voice. She might have been married long before in fact, there -had been three or four men who wanted to marry her. None of them would -she have. Decent enough men they were. But she was unwilling to settle -down to the humdrum life of <span id="Page_200" -class="pagenum">[200]</span> marriage with a man so far beneath her in -intelligence, in ideals, in education. Being a normal, warmhearted human -being, naturally she often pictured to herself what marriage in Central -City would be like. But, keenly sensitive and ambitious, she shrank from -marrying the type of men available, farmers, small merchants, and the -like—she shuddered when she visualized herself bearing children to such -a man to be brought up in a place like Central City. She yearned for -love and as steadfastly put it from her. There are thousands of -tragedies—for tragedy it is—like Mamie’s in the South, and the world -knows it not. When Kenneth or Bob teased her about marrying, she -answered him with a brave and all-concealing smile-all-concealing, that -is, to masculine eyes. Only her mother and Jane knew her secret, and -their lips were sealed in the bond which women seldom, if ever, break. -…</p> -<p>That night Jane looked better than Kenneth had ever seen her look -before. They seldom went out except for a short ride in his car. For -there was no place to which they could go. Central City boasted one -place of public amusement—the Idle Hour Moving Picture Palace. And to -that no Negro could go. Once they had admitted Negroes to the gallery. -None of the better element ever went, as they had to go through a dark -and foul-smelling alleyway to reach the entrance they had to use. The -type of Negroes whose pride permitted them to go were so boisterous and -laughed so loud that even they were soon barred.</p> -<p><span id="Page_201" class="pagenum">[201]</span> As usual they sat on -the vine-covered porch where a breath of cool air was more likely to be -had than in the parlour. That day he had had one of his more frequently -recurring spells when he felt that he could not keep his promise a day -longer to wait until Jane had made up her mind. At first he had thought -of telephoning her and saying that he was ill or busy—any old excuse to -stay away. But he wanted to see her too much for that patent evasion. He -would go over to see her but would talk of nothing but business or -co-operative societies. That’s it, he would keep in “safe” territory. -But Jane had never looked more lovely than on that particular night. -Kenneth’s heart jumped as he greeted her after she had kept him waiting -just the right length of time. He likened her instinctively to a -flame-coloured flower of rare beauty. All of the suppressed passion -surged upward in him. He felt himself slipping. He turned away to gain -control of himself. Had he not done so, he would have seen the swift -look of disappointment on her face at his restraint.</p> -<p>Keeping his eyes resolutely in front of him, he talked wearily and -wearisomely of the meeting he had attended the night before, of how -troublesome and irritating Mrs. Amos had been that day with her -rheumatism, of his having at last persuaded Mrs. Hiram Tucker to go to -Atlanta to have the operation she had so many times postponed. Jane -answered him abstractedly and in monosyllables. At last she moved, -almost with obvious meaning, to the canvas porch swing and there rested -against the pillows piled <span id="Page_202" -class="pagenum">[202]</span> in one corner. And yet Kenneth talked -drearily on and on and on. He spoke at length of a conversation he had -had with Bob that morning—of how glad he was that Bob was going away to -school. Jane swung gently back and forth—and said nothing. Mr. Phillips -came out on the porch and offered Kenneth a cigar, which he accepted and -lighted. Mr. Phillips sat down and talked garrulously while the two men -smoked. Jane felt that she could hardly keep from screaming. After what -seemed an hour, Mr. Phillips, his topics of conversation exhausted, and -at a sign from Jane that was not to be disregarded, rose heavily and -lumbered into the house again.</p> -<p>Kenneth threw away the stump of his cigar. It had suddenly occurred -to him that Jane hadn’t said very much for the past hour. He rose to -go.</p> -<p>Jane sat silent as though unmindful of his having risen. He looked -closely at her. Tears of he knew not what stood in her eyes. He dropped -to the seat beside her, wondering what he had done to hurt her so. -“Jane, what’s the matter?” he asked in a troubled voice. “What have I -done?” She looked at him. … He didn’t know what happened next. Suddenly -he found her in his arms. He strained her to him with all the passion he -had been restraining for the months that seemed like years. He kissed -her hair. He mumbled incoherently, yet with perfect understanding, to -Jane, tender endearments. At length she raised her face from where it -had been buried on his chest, gazed straight into his eyes. <span -id="Page_203" class="pagenum">[203]</span> Their lips met in a long, -clinging, rapturous kiss. …</p> -<p>“How long have you known?” he asked her. Men are such idiots—they are -never satisfied to take what comes to them—they must ask silly and -nonsensical questions.</p> -<p>She told him. Of her long struggle, of her decision, of her annoyance -at his blindness. They talked eagerly until long past the hour of ten. -He heard Mr. Phillips moving chairs and dropping his shoes—obvious hints -that the time to go had long since passed. They paid no attention to -these danger signals but laughed softly to themselves.</p> -<p>Everything must end eventually. Kenneth walked homewards through the -soft light of the September moon. Amusedly, the phrase “walking on air” -occurred to him. He laughed aloud. “Walking on air” was as the rheumatic -stumping along of old Mrs. Amos compared to the way he felt. …</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_204" class="pagenum">[204]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XV -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">I</span><span class="smallcaps">t</span> -was the next night. In the gully on the road leading from that one out -of Central City which went northward, there was being held a hastily -called meeting of Central City Klan, Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, Realm -of Georgia. Before, there had been three hundred robed figures. -To-night, three months later, the popularity of organized intolerance -was attested to by the presence of fully five hundred. What had happened -to Nancy Ware had acted as a powerful incentive to the recruiting of new -converts. It was mighty fine to have a strong and powerful organization -to shut mouths of those who talked too much about the night-time deeds -of loyal Klansmen. And, by gum, if you’re doing anything you don’t want -known or stopped, you’d better be on the inside.</p> -<p>A figure whose arms waved excitedly as he talked was haranguing the -crowd, which paid close attention to him. Had Tom Tracy been there, he -would certainly have recognized the voice of the speaker. Ed Stewart’s -wife, had she been there, would also have recognized it and dragged the -speaker home by force had he resisted.</p> -<p>“White civilization in the South is tottering on its <span -id="Page_205" class="pagenum">[205]</span> throne!” he shouted. “We who -hold in our hands the future of civilization have been asleep! While we -have gone about our ways, the damn niggers are plottin’ to kill us all -in our beds! Right now they’re bringing into our fair city great passels -of guns and ammunition marked ‘sewin’ m’chines’ and ‘ploughs’! They’re -meetin’ ev’ry night in these nigger churches all over the county and -they’re plottin’ an’ plannin’ to kill ev’ry white man, woman an’ chile -in this county and take the lan’ for themselves! They’re led by a damn -nigger doctor right here in Central City named Harper! I know it’s so, -‘cause another nigger doctor named Williams tol’ me yestiddy mornin’ all -about it and said that this nigger Harper was leadin’ this vile plot! -He’s been goin’ all over the county stirrin’ up the damn niggers and -incitin’ them to murder all of us! What’re you men goin’ to do?” he -challenged in a voice that shrilled in pretended rage and terror.</p> -<p>A deep-throated roar answered him. Cries of “Kill the bastards!” -“Lynch ’em!” “Kill every black bastard befo’ mornin!” It was the -age-long voice of the mob bent on murder—the pack in full cry. But it -was more than the voice of the mob of the Roman Colosseum, for that -ancient cry was one of pleasure at the death of a single Christian. This -was the shout of those intent on a wild, murderous rampage that spared -neither man, woman, nor child.</p> -<p>“Klansmen!”</p> -<p>A voice like that of a bull roared until the tumult had subsided. It -was the Exalted Cyclops of the <span id="Page_206" -class="pagenum">[206]</span> Central City Klan. He stood in silence -until the group of hooded figures was still.</p> -<p>“The noble order of the Ku Klux Klan don’t handle situations such as -this like a mob!” The figures stood expectantly, eagerly waiting to hear -what would come next.</p> -<p>“We have listened to the story told by our fellow Klansmen. Hol’ -yo’se’ves ready for the call of the Invisible Empire at any minute. We -have planned the way to en’ this dastardly plot and to punish those -responsible with death!”</p> -<p>“That’s right! Kill ‘em! Lynch ’em! Burn th’ bastards!” shouted the -crowd.</p> -<p>“That’ll be done till ev’ry one is killed!” promised the Exalted -Cyclops. “But it can’t be done so’s it can be laid to our noble order! -Already our enemies are charging us with crimes! The Fed’ral Gov’nment -will be down on our heads!”</p> -<p>There were cries of “Damn the Gov’nment!” from some of the more -hot-headed. But calmer judgment prevailed. Something was to be done, but -what that ominous “something” might be, was not revealed. Each man was -to be ready for instantaneous duty upon call of the Klan. Immediate -action was not wise, for the Klan investigators had not completed their -work. Action must wait until that had been done, for it was essential -that not one of the plotters should escape.</p> -<p>This last point was emphasized. At last the crowd became more calm -with the determination to postpone its vengeance until it was certain of -being complete. <span id="Page_207" class="pagenum">[207]</span> It then -dispersed its several ways, dissolving into separate groups that talked -excitedly of the astounding and terrifying news, the need of prompt -action, the great luck the white folks had had in discovering the plot -so soon, violent denunciation of the Negroes in the plot.</p> -<p>In one of the groups the conversation was different. One of the group -was the Exalted Cyclops, in private life Sheriff Bob Parker; another was -the Kligrapp, otherwise Henry Lane, Commissioner of Health; the third -was the speaker who had revealed the plot, Ed Stewart, Tom Tracy’s -landlord.</p> -<p>Sheriff Parker chuckled softly. “Well, Ed, looks like somethin’ is -about to break loose, eh?” he observed.</p> -<p>“Yep, I reck’n you’re right. Them damn niggers’ve got a hell of a -nerve! Formin’ sassieties to ‘stop robbin’ share-croppers’! When we get -through with ’em, they’ll be formin’ coal-shov’lin’ sassieties in hell!” -The other two joined in the laugh at his grim joke. “We’ll put in th’ -papers they was formin’ to kill white folks and they’ll never know but -what that ain’t true.”</p> -<p>Parker laughed again. Waving his hand at the departing Klansmen, -there came to his face a cynical sneer. “An’ them damn fools really -think they’re sho’ly goin’ to be murdered by the damn niggers!”</p> -<div class="break"> - -</div> -<p>In another section of Central City there was being enacted at the -same time another scene of poignant drama that threatened to translate -itself into tragedy. <span id="Page_208" class="pagenum">[208]</span> -The place was a darkened bedroom in the home of Roy Ewing on Georgia -Avenue, and the actors in it were four in number. Roy Ewing, owner and -manager of the Ewing General Merchandise Store, whom Kenneth had seen -but little since Ewing had discontinued his nocturnal visits to -Kenneth’s office, was one of the actors. His wife, whose face still bore -evidences of a youthful beauty that was fast fading, was a second. A -third was old Dr. Bennett, who sat by the bed, his hair dishevelled, his -face lined with perplexity and anxiety, as he apprehensively watched the -fourth actor in the drama, a girl of nineteen who was restlessly tossing -in pain on the bed. Row Ewing stood at the foot of the bed. His wife sat -on the other side uttering little snatches of phrases of soothing -sympathy which her daughter did not hear.</p> -<p>Dr. Bennett was plainly worried and at a loss what to do to relieve -the torture Ewing’s daughter was so clearly experiencing. He turned to -Ewing. “Roy, to tell you the truth, it don’t seem like I can find out -what’s the matter with Mary. When she had that first attack, I thought -she had appendicitis, but she ain’t got no fever to speak of, so it -can’t be her appendix that’s botherin’ her. Looks like t’ me she’s got -some sort of bleedin’ inside, but I can’t tell.”</p> -<p>Ewing and his wife looked anxiously first at their daughter, then -interrogatively and pleadingly at the old physician as he watched the -sufferer in her con<span id="Page_209" -class="pagenum">[209]</span>tortions of pain and agony. Mary, married -two months and her husband working in Atlanta, had lived with her -parents after a short honeymoon. She had her mother’s beauty—that is, -the delicate, patrician, statuesque charm that had been her mother’s -when Roy Ewing had courted and won her two decades ago in Charleston, -South Carolina. It was not the harsh-lined, blonde beauty of Georgia but -the fragile old-world, French loveliness of that spot in South Carolina -where French tradition and customs and features had not yet been -barbarized by the infusion of that Anglo-Saxon blood which is the boast -of the South. She lay there, a pitiful sight. Her face was pale, covered -with cold, clammy perspiration; all blood had fled from it. She breathed -with great difficulty in short and laboured respiratory efforts. Her -pulse was failing, very rapid and thready; at times it was barely -perceptible. She had been seized with the attack around seven o’clock, -when she began vomiting. Now she appeared to be so weakened with the -pain she had endured that a state of coma was obviously fast -approaching. At least it seemed so. Dr. Bennett tried to revive her, but -with little success. The absence of fever puzzled him. He feared an -internal hæmorrhage—all signs pointed to such a condition—yet he did not -know. Roy Ewing and his wife were among his closest friends. He would -have tried an operation had they not been. That he feared to risk with -their daughter. Yet, what could he do? Mary was obviously so weak that -<span id="Page_210" class="pagenum">[210]</span> he knew she could not -be moved to Atlanta, three hundred miles away. Nor would a physician be -able to get to Central City in time to operate.</p> -<p>“I’m puzzled, Roy, mighty puzzled,” he said, turning to Ewing. “I -might as well tell you the truth. Looks like t’ me she c’n hardly last -till mornin’.” It was gall and wormwood for him to admit his impotency, -but he did it.</p> -<p>“Dr. Bennett, you’ve got to do somethin’! You’ve got to! You’ve got -to!”</p> -<p>It was Mrs. Ewing who cried out in her agony—the piteous cry of a -mother who sees her first-born dying before her eyes. Her face was as -blanched as Mary’s—every drop of blood seemed to have been drained from -it. She looked pleadingly at him, chill terror gripping her heart as she -realized from his words that her Mary, who had been so happy and well -that morning, was about to die.</p> -<p>“If you—all wasn’t such good friends of mine, I’d try it anyhow,” -Dr. Bennett answered her, his voice as agonized as hers. “But I’m -skeered to op’rate or do anythin’ that might hasten her on.”</p> -<p>Ewing walked over to the doctor, grasped the older man’s shoulders so -fiercely that he winced in pain.</p> -<p>“By God,” he shouted at Dr. Bennett, “you’ve got to operate! I can’t -see my little Mary die right here befo’ my eyes! Go ahead and do what -you think best. It’ll be better’n seein’ her die while we stand here -doin’ nothin’!”.</p> -<p>“Roy,” Dr. Bennett groaned, “you know there ain’t anythin’ I wouldn’t -do for you—’cept this.” <span id="Page_211" class="pagenum">[211]</span> -He waved his hand vaguely towards the bed. As he did so, he looked with -keen appraisement at Ewing in the dim light. He seemed to be debating in -his mind whether or not he dared take a very long chance. If the chance -would not be more disastrous. If Mary’s life might not be better lost -than that! Ewing almost stopped breathing as he saw the momentary -indecision in the physician’s face. Mrs. Ewing saw none of this by-play, -for she had sunk down on the bed, where her body was shaken with the -sobs she could not restrain.</p> -<p>“There’s jus’ one chance t’ save her,” Dr. Bennett hesitatingly -began. Ewing leaned forward in his eagerness.</p> -<p>“There’s jus’ this one hope,” Dr. Bennett repeated, “but I don’t know -if you’d be willin’ to take that chance.”</p> -<p>“I don’t give a damn what it is!” Ewing shouted in his anxiety. “I’ll -take it! What is it, Doc? I don’t care what it costs! What is it?” He -quivered as with a chill in his excitement—the excitement of the -drowning man who sees a possible rescuer as he is about to go down for -the third time. Mrs. Ewing had stopped crying—she seemed as though she -had forgotten to breathe. They both waited eagerly for the older man to -speak. At last he did. He paused after each word.</p> -<p>“Th’only—man—I know—near enough—to op’rate—in -time—is—a—nigger-doctor—here—named—Harper!”</p> -<p>“Oh, my God!” groaned Ewing as he sank to his <span id="Page_212" -class="pagenum">[212]</span> knees beside the bed and buried his face in -his hands. “A nigger—seein’ my Mary—operatin’ on her—Good God! I’d -rather see her dead than have a nigger put his hands on her! No! No! -No!” He fairly screamed the last in his fury.</p> -<p>“I didn’t think you’d do it,” said Dr. Bennett miserably. “I jus’ -felt I oughter tell you. He’s jus’ out of school—studied in one of the -bes’ schools up No’th—and in France. He might save Mary—but I can’t -blame you none for not havin’ him.”</p> -<p>While he was speaking, Ewing jumped to his feet and paced up and down -the room like a caged and wounded tiger. On the one hand was the life of -his daughter—on the other his inherent, acquired, environmental -prejudice. None but those who know intimately the depth and passion of -that prejudice as it flourishes in the South can know what torture what -a hell—what agony Ewing was going through. Prejudice under almost any -circumstances is hard enough to bear—in Ewing’s case his very soul was -tormented at such an unheard-of thing as a Negro operating on his -daughter.</p> -<p>“Roy!”</p> -<p>He turned abruptly at the sound of his wife’s voice, having forgotten -for the time everything—wife, surroundings, all—as he struggled with the -problem he faced.</p> -<p>“Roy!” Her voice was weak because of the ordeal through which she was -passing. She ran to him, seizing his arm and looking up at him -pleadingly.</p> -<p><span id="Page_213" class="pagenum">[213]</span> “Roy! I can’t see -our Mary die! I can’t let her die!”</p> -<p>“Would you have a nigger see her naked?” he demanded of her fiercely. -“Would you? Would you?”</p> -<p>Her head went back sharply at the roughness of his tone. In her eyes -flashed that brilliant, burning look of mother love that submits to no -dangers, no obstacles.</p> -<p>“I’d do anything to save her!” she cried.</p> -<p>“No, no, Mary,” Ewing pleaded, “we can’t do that! We can’t!”</p> -<p>She did not hear him. Brushing past him, she caught Dr. Bennett by -the arm as he rose to his feet. “Get that doctor here quick!” she -demanded of him. …</p> -<p>When Dr. Bennett telephoned him to come to Roy Ewing’s home as -quickly as he could, Kenneth was somewhat puzzled. He went at once, -deciding that one of the servants was sick. When told that it was Mary -Ewing he was to treat, he could not conceal his amazement. He followed -Roy Ewing and the doctor to her room, the while he was trying to make -himself realize that he, Kenneth Harper, a Negro doctor, had been called -to treat a white person—a white woman—in the South. Reaching the -bedside, though, he put aside his bewilderment and began at once the -diagnosis to discover what the trouble was. He listened without speaking -to Dr. Bennett as the old man told him the symptoms Mary had shown and -what <span id="Page_214" class="pagenum">[214]</span> he thought was the -matter. Ewing was sent from the room. Kenneth rapidly examined the -patient—and decided that she was having severe internal hæmorrhages. It -looked like an acute and dangerous case.</p> -<p>Immediate operation seemed the only hope. And even that hope was a -slim one. He informed Dr. Bennett of his diagnosis.</p> -<p>Ewing was summoned. Briefly Kenneth told him his theory of the -trouble—that the only hope was immediate operation. Ewing faltered, -hesitated, seemed about to refuse to allow it. At that moment a loud -scream of pain was wrung from Mary’s lips. He winced as though he had -been struck. He shrugged his shoulders in assent to the operation. …</p> -<p>Kenneth telephoned Mrs. Johnson, the nurse who had helped him before, -to be ready to go with him for an operation in ten minutes. He drove -rapidly home, secured his instruments, ether, sterilizer, gown and other -equipment, bundled them into his car, called for Mrs. Johnson, -explaining briefly to her the nature of the case as he drove as rapidly -as he could to the Ewing home.</p> -<p>Mary was carried downstairs and placed on the dining-room table. -Dr. Bennett agreed to give the anæsthesic. Kenneth went rapidly, yet -surely, to work. In his element now, he forgot time, place, the unusual -circumstances, and everything else. Swiftly he began the delicate and -perilous task as soon as Dr. Bennett had sufficiently etherized the -patient. Yet, even in the stress of the moment, he could not <span -id="Page_215" class="pagenum">[215]</span> keep down the ironical -thoughts that crept to his brain in spite of all efforts to bar them. -The South’s a funny place, he mused. Must have been a mighty hard thing -for old Bennett to have to admit that he, a Negro, knew more about -operating in a case like this than he did himself. Roy Ewing must have -had a bad half-hour deciding whether or not he’d let a Negro do the -operation on his daughter. Hope nothing goes wrong—if it does, might as -well pick out some other town to go to. Oh, well, won’t let that worry -me. Have to make the best of it—save her if possible.</p> -<p>Weakened by the severe hæmorrhages she had been having, Mary was in a -condition of extreme shock. The least slip, Kenneth realized, and -nothing could save her. Her face wan and drawn, Mary’s life hung -precariously in the balance—the odds were all against her while the grim -spectre of death crept slowly but surely upon her.</p> -<p>Beads of perspiration stood upon Kenneth’s brow as he fought for her -life. Though he could not have done the operation himself, Dr. Bennett -sensed the gravity of the situation. The older man leaned forward in his -anxiety—hardly daring to breathe for fear of interrupting the deft, sure -touch of the operator. Ten—fifteen—twenty—thirty—forty—fifty minutes -crept by on lagging feet—to the two doctors and the nurse each minute -seemed an hour.</p> -<p>Despite all his efforts, Kenneth knew Mary was rapidly sinking. The -loss of blood and strength, the severity of the shock, the enervating -spasms of <span id="Page_216" class="pagenum">[216]</span> pain she had -suffered, had sapped her strength until all resistive power was gone. -Kenneth knew that Dr. Bennett knew this too—even in the desperate -struggle he wondered what the other would say and do—if the girl died. -He tried to shake off the fear that seized him—fear of what would happen -if it became known among the whites that Mary Ewing had died while a -Negro was operating on her. No mortal could have done more. Even were -that known and admitted, it would not save him, Kenneth knew.</p> -<p>The tense situation became too much for him. When he should have been -steadiest, the double strain on his nerves caused his hand to slip. -Blood spurted forth. Kenneth feverishly caught the bleeding artery with -a hæmostatic and sought to repair the damage he had done.</p> -<p>“Tough luck,” muttered Dr. Bennett. Kenneth looked up at him. The -older man grunted and smiled encouragingly. A burden seemed lifted from -Kenneth’s shoulders. Mrs. Johnson wiped the perspiration that streamed -from Kenneth’s face. She seemed endowed with a sixth sense that told her -his needs almost before he was aware of them himself.</p> -<p>It was a strange sight. Anywhere in America. In Georgia it was -amazing beyond belief. A white woman patient. A white anæsthetizer. A -black nurse. A black surgeon. …</p> -<p>All things must come to an end. Kenneth rapidly sewed up the -incision. He bandaged the wound tightly. She yet breathed.</p> -<p>Kenneth opened the door and admitted Ewing, who <span id="Page_217" -class="pagenum">[217]</span> had paced the hall since the operation -began. Every minute of the hour he had been there, he had had to fight -hard to keep himself from bursting into the room and stopping the -operation. He had been restrained by the positiveness with which he had -been ejected from the room by Kenneth—there was something in the -physician’s air that had warned him without words that he must not -interfere. Something within him told him Kenneth was right—knew what he -was doing. The colour and race of the surgeon had been almost forgotten -in the strange circumstances. “Will she live?” he asked, his words -whispered in so hoarse a tone they could hardly be heard.</p> -<p>“I don’t know—it’ll be forty-eight hours before we can tell—if she -lives that long,” answered Kenneth. The strain had been greater than he -had known. Kenneth felt a strange weakening—lassitude gripped his -body—he felt a nausea that came with the reaction after the mental -ordeal. Ewing stood by the table on which lay his child. Tears which he -forgot to wipe away stood in his eyes as he watched her laboured -breathing. Dr. Bennett put his hand on Ewing’s shoulder.</p> -<p>“He did all he could!” he declared, nodding at Kenneth. There was -admiration in the old doctor’s voice.</p> -<p>Ewing rushed off to give the news to his wife. …</p> -<p>The three men carried the unconscious form to her room. With a short -“Good night” to Dr. Bennett, Kenneth left the house with Mrs. Johnson -and drove away. …</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_218" class="pagenum">[218]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XVI -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">T</span><span -class="smallcaps">he</span> following day Kenneth was kept busy -arranging his affairs in order to leave the following morning for -Atlanta for the operation on Mrs. Tucker. It had been a most difficult -task for him to persuade her to have it done. He had been at last -successful when he made her realize that it would mean either the -operation or death. She dreaded the trip to Atlanta but Kenneth refused -to perform the operation except at a hospital and there was none nearer -than Atlanta at which a Negro could operate.</p> -<p>During the day he had been kept so busy that he had not had time to -go out of the coloured section except once, and that when in the late -afternoon he drove through Lee Street to see how Mary Ewing was faring. -He had been so busy with his own thoughts that he had paid little -attention to the whites who were standing around on the streets. He did -not see the threatening and hostile looks they gave nor did he notice -the excited whispering and muttering when he came into their sight.</p> -<p>Ed Stewart had partly told the truth at the meeting of the Klan when -he said that Dr. Williams had informed him of the organization Kenneth -and the others were forming. Kenneth had seen little of the <span -id="Page_219" class="pagenum">[219]</span> pompous and intensely jealous -physician since the time when he had forced Dr. Williams to assist him -in the appendicitis operation on Mrs. Emma Bradley. Kenneth had felt -nothing but an amused contempt for his fellow-practitioner, for he knew -that Dr. Williams covered his deficiencies in medical knowledge and -skill with the bombastic and self-important air he affected.</p> -<p>Dr. Williams, on the other hand, had never forgiven Kenneth for the -incident in which Kenneth had shown him up in a manner that injured the -former’s pride far more than Kenneth had suspected. Dr. Williams felt -that the younger man had deliberately and with malice aforethought -offered a gratuitous insult to him as dean of the coloured medical -profession of Central City, though that profession numbered but two -members. Kenneth’s success as a physician in Central City, having taken -as he had some of the best of Dr. Williams’ own patients whom he had -considered peculiarly his own, the insult plus Kenneth’s success had -rankled in his breast until, being of a petty and mean disposition, he -hated the younger man with a deep and vindictive hatred.</p> -<p>He had not, however, intended that his conversation with Ed Stewart -should assume the proportions that it eventually did. On the day before -the meeting of the Klan at which Kenneth had been named as the one -responsible for the organization of the Negroes, Dr. Williams had met Ed -Stewart driving out along a country road near Ashland. Williams was -returning from making a professional call in that <span id="Page_220" -class="pagenum">[220]</span> neighbourhood. Stewart, a big, raw-boned, -and lanky “Cracker” or “Peck,” as they are called by Negroes in the -South, was going to inspect the cotton crops of his tenant-farmers, that -he might estimate how big the crops would be and might know accordingly -how large the tenants’ bills should be for supplies furnished.</p> -<p>They had stopped to pass the time of day and for Stewart to find -which of the Negroes on his place was sick. He wanted to know if that -sick one was too sick to work the crop, as the loss of even one worker -during cotton-picking time was serious, what with the number of Negroes -who had gone North. Having gained the information, he started to -question Dr. Williams in a way that he thought was exceedingly adroit -and clever, but through which ruse the coloured doctor saw instantly and -clearly.</p> -<p>“Say, Doc, you know anything ‘bout these niggers ’round here holdin’ -these meetin’s nearly ev’ry night? Seems t’ me it’s mighty late for them -to be holdin’ revival services and indo’ camp-meetin’s?” he queried in -as casual a tone as he could manage.</p> -<p>An idea sprang full-grown to Williams’ mind. Kenneth Harper was -getting far too popular through the organization of his co-operative -societies. Williams was shrewd enough to see that if they were as -successful as they gave promise of being, Kenneth would be the leading -Negro of the town, if not of that entire section of Georgia. And -correspondingly he, Williams, would become less and less the prominent -figure he had been before Kenneth had come <span id="Page_221" -class="pagenum">[221]</span> back from France to Central City. That was -it! Stewart was one of the biggest planters in Smith County. It was also -rumoured he was prominent in the Ku Klux Klan. Stewart’s fortunes would -be the hardest hit in the county if Kenneth’s societies achieved their -purpose, for he, Stewart, had as many share-croppers and tenant-farmers -as any other man in the county if not more. Stewart also had the -reputation, a long-standing one, of being the hardest taskmaster on his -Negro tenants in the county—the one who profited most through juggled -accounts and fraudulent dealings. He could have cut, had he chosen, five -notches in the handle of his gun, each one signifying a Negro who had -dared to dispute the justness of settlements for crops raised.</p> -<p>All these thoughts raced through Williams’ brain while Stewart waited -for a reply to his questions. Williams had no intention of the -exaggeration of his statements which Stewart later made. He merely -intended that by telling Stewart of the societies, Kenneth’s rapidly -increasing prominence in the community should receive a check through -obstacles which Stewart and his fellow-landlords might put—in fact, were -sure to put—in the way of success of the farmers’ organizations.</p> -<p>“No, sir, they ain’t holdin’ revivals, Mr. Stewart. I reckon if you -white folks knew what was goin’ on, you wouldn’t feel so -comfortable.”</p> -<p>Williams was playing with Stewart as is done so often by Negroes in -the South with the whites, though the latter, in their supreme -confidence that they be<span id="Page_222" -class="pagenum">[222]</span>long to an eternally ordained “superior -race,” seldom realize how often and how easily they are taken in by -Negroes. Williams enjoyed the look of concern that had come to Stewart’s -face at his words.</p> -<p>“What’s goin’ on, Doc?” he asked in an eager tone, from which he -tried with but little success to keep the anxiety that he felt.</p> -<p>“Heh, heh, heh!” laughed Williams in a throaty chuckle. “These -Negroes are figurin’ on takin’ some of these landlords to court that’s -been cheatin’ them on their crops. Of course,” he added hastily, “that -don’t need to worry you none, Mr. Stewart, but from what I hear, there -are some ’round here that the news will worry.”</p> -<p>Stewart flushed, for he was conscious of a vague feeling that -Williams might have been indirectly hitting at him when he had said that -the court proceedings wouldn’t affect him. He fell back on the old -custom of flattering and praising fulsomely the Negro from whom a white -man wants information regarding the activities of other Negroes. -Williams, like every other Negro in the South, knew what value to put on -it, but he was playing a far deeper game than Stewart suspected.</p> -<p>“Doc, why ain’t all these niggers good, sensible ones like you? If -all the niggers in the South were like you, there never would be any -trouble.”</p> -<p>“That’s right, Mr. Stewart, that’s right. As I was sayin’ to some of -the folks out your way this mornin’, they’d better stop followin’ after -the fool ideas of these coloured men who’ve been up No’th.”</p> -<p><span id="Page_223" class="pagenum">[223]</span> He looked at Stewart -shrewdly and appraisingly to see if he had penetrated the subtlety of -his remark. Stewart, slow of thought, had not fully done so, it seemed. -Williams continued:</p> -<p>“You see, it’s like this, Mr. Stewart. Folks like you and me could -live here for a hundred years and there’d never be no trouble. There’d -never be no race problem if they was only like us. But”—and his voice -took on a doubtful and sorrowful sound—“the most of this trouble we’re -havin’ is caused by fool Negroes who go up No’th to school and run -around with those coloured folks in New York and Chicago who tell ‘em -how bad we po’ coloured folks are bein’ treated in the South. They get -all filled up with ‘social equality’ ideas, and then they come back down -here and talk that stuff to these ignorant Negroes and get them all -stirred up⸺”</p> -<p>Stewart was seeing more clearly what Williams was driving at.</p> -<p>“I see,” he said reflectively. “I alw’ys said too much education -sp’iled niggers—that is, some niggers,” he added hastily for fear -Williams might take offence before he had done with him. “Co’se it don’t -bother sensible ones like you, Doc.” The last was said conciliatingly. -“Let’s see, mos’ this trouble’s stahted since that other doctor’s been -back, ain’t it?” he asked as casually as he could.</p> -<p>“I ain’t sayin’ who’s doin’ it,” replied Williams as he started the -engine of his car. “But you’re a good guesser, Mr. Stewart,” he threw -back over his shoulder as he drove away. …</p> -<p><span id="Page_224" class="pagenum">[224]</span> Stewart clucked to -his horse and rode in deep thought down the road. His mind was busy -devising schemes to circumvent the action of the societies to take into -court men like himself who had been robbing Negroes. They’d lose in the -local courts, he knew, but suppose they raised enough money to take a -case to the United States Supreme Court. No, that would never do! He’d -see Parker and talk it over with him right away! He put the whip to his -horse and drove rapidly into town. Mustn’t let the damn niggers -organize, that would be hell! …</p> -<p>Kenneth was going about his business on the day following the meeting -of the Klan that had been caused by Dr. Williams’ talk with Stewart, in -blissful ignorance of the storm rapidly gathering about his head. His -mind was intent on a number of things—but trouble on account of the -co-operative societies was furthest from his mind. Had he been told -there was any trouble, such news would probably have been greeted with a -laugh of unconcern. All the white people of the South weren’t scoundrels -and thieves like Stewart and Taylor and their kind! They were but a few. -Besides the poor whites, the majority of whites would undoubtedly -heartily approve his plan when it had been developed to the point where -it could be made public.</p> -<p>But Kenneth thought of none of those things. His mind was too full of -other events that loomed on the horizon. First, of course, he thought of -Jane. He thought of his great good fortune in knowing a girl like her. -There was a girl for you! He thought of <span id="Page_225" -class="pagenum">[225]</span> the home he would build for her—he was -mighty glad his father had been in fairly comfortable circumstances and -that he had been successful in his practice. He would be able to build a -mighty nice home for Jane. They wouldn’t bother with the cheap and -flashy furniture, fumed oak or mission, to be obtained in Central City. -Oh, no! Soon’s Mrs. Phillips was better, the three of them would go to -Atlanta and buy everything they needed there. They’d have the -best-looking home in Central City, white or coloured! His mother and -Mamie wanted him to bring Jane into the house. He might do that … but -the house which had seemed so comfortable before, now seemed too -ordinary to bring a girl like Jane to. … He’d talk that over with her -to-night. … And then after a time there might be a little Jane … and a -Kenneth, Jr. … Kenneth laughed softly to himself as he saw Jane and -himself sitting by the fire of an evening with two little rascals -playing on the floor. … And later they’d go off to school. He’d see that -they got the best there was in life. … So his thoughts ran.</p> -<p>And then he thought of Roy Ewing and the operation of the night -before. Must have been a mighty terrible ordeal for them to have to call -a Negro in to operate on their daughter. Race prejudice is a funny -thing! A white man will eat food prepared by black hands, have it served -by black hands, have his children nursed by a black nurse who most of -the time was more a mother to them than their own mother, let his -clothes be taken into a black home to <span id="Page_226" -class="pagenum">[226]</span> be washed, allow all the most intimate -details of his life to be handled by black folks. … Even lots of them -would consort with black women at night to whom they wouldn’t raise -their hats in the daytime. … But when it came to recognizing a Negro -outside of menial service, then there came the rub. … Yet in a matter of -life and death like Ewing’s case, they forgot prejudice. … Maybe in time -the race problem would be solved just like that … when some great event -would wipe away the artificial lines … as in France. … He thought of the -terrible days and nights in the Argonne. … He remembered the night he -had seen a wounded black soldier and a wounded white Southern one, drink -from the same canteen. … They didn’t think about colour in those times. -… Wouldn’t the South be a happy place if this vile prejudice didn’t -exist? … He wondered why folks didn’t see it as clearly as he did. …</p> -<p>At last the long, busy day ended. He went over to have supper with -Jane. That dress she had on the night they had told each other of their -love, that reddish-coloured one, that had been a beauty. But -to-night—ah, the other one wasn’t nearly so pretty! It was of white, -simply made. Satin slippers, silk stockings, also of white. Her hair -piled high and pierced with a large tortoise-shell comb. Always she -brought pictures to Kenneth’s mind. To-night it was again of the -dark-eyed, seductive Spanish señorita on a balcony. After supper, they -sat in the canvas porch swing. They talked of their plans—im<span -id="Page_227" class="pagenum">[227]</span>petuously, -enthusiastically—with all the glorious dreams of youthful love. All the -little things—little, but so great when one is young and in love they -said to each other. The things they said when the Pyramids were being -built. The things they will say a thousand years from now.</p> -<p>To-night there were no warning signals from Mr. Phillips when ten -o’clock came. He had been glad, and had said so, when Kenneth asked him -for Jane. “We don’t feel we’re losing a daughter—we’re gaining a son -instead!” he had said.</p> -<p>They talked on until there was no other sign of life discernible in -the neighbourhood, save for the passage of a prowling cat, or the sound -of the crickets in the grass. At last he had to go. Early the next -morning he was to leave for Atlanta with Mrs. Tucker. Three days he was -to be gone. He would return on Friday.</p> -<p>In October they were to be married. Mrs. Phillips’ health was not -improving as they had hoped. She was cheerful but she wanted Jane to be -happily married before she died. They had decided to live at his house -with his mother and Mamie. They’d refurnish it and do over all the -rooms. Later on, when he had made lots of money, they’d build.</p> -<p>Mamie and Jane and Kenneth were to go to Atlanta the latter part of -September, there to buy the furniture and all the other things, they -would need. Mrs. Phillips was too ill to stand the strain of the long -journey and the excitement of the shopping.</p> -<p>Jane tiptoed into the house so as not to wake her <span id="Page_228" -class="pagenum">[228]</span>mother. She returned in a few minutes with a -fluffy white mass in her arms. It was her wedding-gown which she was to -make herself. They sat silent for a minute at the token of what it -meant.</p> -<p>Tears stood in Jane’s eyes when he went down the stairs. He saw them -when he looked back to say the last soft good-bye.</p> -<p>“Three days is an awful long time,” she said plaintively.</p> -<p>Of course, there was nothing else for him to do but go back up the -steps and kiss her good-bye all over again. …</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_229" class="pagenum">[229]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XVII -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">B</span><span -class="smallcaps">ob</span> was packing for his journey to Cambridge, -whistling cheerfully the while. It was certainly great to be going away -up to Boston to school. All his life he had wanted to live there for a -while where he could learn the things which he knew of only at second -hand now. He pictured in his mind how he would arrange his life at -school. There’d be none of the kiddish pranks he had read about that -college boys did. He was too old for that. He had seen too much of the -seamy and sordid side of life to waste his time playing. He’d study -every minute he could. He’d make a record in scholarship that would make -his mother and Mamie and Kenneth proud of him. He’d go to summer school -so as to finish the rest of his college course in two years instead of -three. And then, law school. By jiminy, he’d be the best lawyer there -was! Not the best coloured lawyer. The best lawyer! Never did youth have -more brilliant dreams of life than Bob. He paused at the sound which -came from downstairs through the half-opened door. It couldn’t be in -Ken’s office, for he had gone to Atlanta with Mrs. Tucker that morning. -It sounded like crying—as one would cry who had suffered some great -bereave<span id="Page_230" class="pagenum">[230]</span>ment or terrible -misfortune. He went out in the hall and leaned over the balustrade, the -better to find out what was the matter.</p> -<p>It was Mamie and his mother. He looked puzzled, for he could think of -nothing to make Mamie cry that way. His mother was trying to soothe and -calm her as Mamie told her the cause of her weeping. Bob crept down the -stairs as softly as he could to hear.</p> -<p>Mamie between sobs was telling her mother of some accident that had -befallen her.</p> -<p>“I had been—to Ewing’s Store and that Jim Archer—and Charley -Allen—and two or three other white boys—that hang around Ewing’s -Store—said nasty things to me when I came out—I hurried home they must -have followed me.”</p> -<p>Here she broke down again while her mother crooned softly to her, -pleading with her not to cry so hard. Mamie choked back her sobs and -went on. Bob’s face became terrible to see. He hung there on the steps -almost breathless, waiting, and dreading what he felt was coming.</p> -<p>“At that old field-near the railroad—they jumped out—and grabbed me -oh, my God! My God! Why didn’t they kill me? Why didn’t they kill me?” -Mamie’s screams were horrible to hear. “Then—oh, God! God help me!”</p> -<p>For a minute Bob stood there as one frozen to the spot. Then a blind, -unreasoning fury filled him. He ran up the stairs to Kenneth’s room and -got the <span id="Page_231" class="pagenum">[231]</span> revolver he -knew Kenneth kept there. Without hat or coat he ran down the stairs. Out -the door and down the street. Mamie and her mother were roused by his -action. Mamie, lying on the floor with her head in her mother’s lap, her -clothes torn and bloody, her face and body bruised, struggled to her -feet. She ran to the open door through which Bob had disappeared. An -even greater terror, if such was possible, was on her face.</p> -<p>“Bob! Bob! Come back! Come back!” she cried in ever louder cries.</p> -<p>“Bob! Bob!”</p> -<p>But Bob was too far away to hear her.</p> -<div class="break"> - -</div> -<p>In front of Ewing’s Store there sat a group of nine or ten men and -boys. They were gathered around one who seemed to be relating a highly -interesting and humorous story. Every few minutes there’d be a loud -laugh and a slapping of each other on the back. Suddenly, silence. A -hatless and coatless figure was running down the street toward them. The -group opened as its members started to scatter. In the middle of it -there stood Jim Archer and Charley Allen. The former had been telling -the story.</p> -<p>Bob walked straight up to Jim Archer, whose face had turned even -paler than its usual pasty colour. He turned to run but it was too late. -Without saying a word, his eyes burning with a deadly hatred, Bob raised -the revolver he had in his hand and fired once—twice—into Archer’s -breast. Charley Allen <span id="Page_232" class="pagenum">[232]</span> -rushed upon Bob to overpower him. He met head-on the two bullets that -came to meet him, and fell gasping and coughing on the ground at Bob’s -feet.</p> -<p>The rest of the crowd had fled.</p> -<p>Without hurrying, Bob stepped into a Ford delivery truck that had -been left at the curb, its engine running. Before the crowd which with -miraculous suddenness filled the street could stop him, he drove -straight down Lee Street, turned into Oglethorpe Avenue, and headed for -the country beyond the town. …</p> -<p>Three miles out of town the Ford spluttered, coughed, shook mightily, -and stopped. Its gasolene tank was empty. Shoving it into the underbrush -on the side of the road, far enough to be out of sight, Bob ran on. If -he could only get across country as far as the railroad going North, he -might be able to get to Macon, where he could hide. When the excitement -died down, he could go on farther North. Perhaps he could eventually -reach Canada. He fought his way through brushes, across vast fields of -cotton that seemed to have no end. Near midnight he could go no farther. -He had eaten nothing since breakfast—he had been too excited over his -packing to eat any dinner. Bitterly he thought of the change a few hours -had brought forth. Twelve hours before, he had been eagerly planning to -leave for school. Now, his sister ruined, he a murderer twice -over—fleeing for his life! He hoped that he had killed both of them! It -would be too ironical a fate for them to live. … He thought for a moment -<span id="Page_233" class="pagenum">[233]</span> of what would happen if -they caught him. He put the thought away from him. God, that was too -terrible! Mustn’t think of that! I’ll lose my nerve. …</p> -<p>What was that? Lord, he must have fallen asleep! What is that? Dogs? -Bloodhounds! Great God!</p> -<p>I must get away! How did they get away from bloodhounds in books? -That was it! Water!</p> -<p>He’d find a stream and wade in it. Then the damned dogs would lose -the scent.</p> -<p>The thought of water reminded him suddenly that he was -thirsty—terribly thirsty. God, but his throat was dry! Felt like ten -thousand hot needles were sticking in it!</p> -<p>His legs and thighs ached. He dragged them along like a paralysed -man. He thought petulantly of a paralysed man he had seen once in -Atlanta. What was his name? Bill? No, that wasn’t it. Jim? No, not that -either. Some sort of a name like that.</p> -<p>Wonder how Mamie was? Mamie? Who’s Mamie? What had happened to her? -He racked his brain to remember. At last he gave it up. No use trying. -Old—old—brain don’t work right.</p> -<p>Wonder what’s the matter with it?</p> -<p>His delirious brain was suddenly cleared by an ominous baying close -at hand. Those damned dogs again. They’d never take him alive! He felt -in his pockets to see if the gun was still there. It was. He felt in the -other pocket to count the cartridges there while he ran. -One—two—three—four—five<span id="Page_234" -class="pagenum">[234]</span>—six—seven—eight! All there! Seven for the -mob! One—for—Bob!</p> -<p>An old barn suddenly loomed up before him in the rapidly approaching -light of dawn. He dragged himself into it and barred the door. Not much -protection! But—a little! Just a little! Better’n none! He sat down on -an old box by the door, There was a knot-hole farther over. He dragged -the box in front of it. Reloaded the revolver. One—two—three—four -cartridges! Two that hadn’t been used! That left six in the gun! And -four more! Listen! The dogs sound like they’re near!</p> -<p>There they are! He wouldn’t waste his precious bullets on dogs! Oh, -no! He’d save them for the human dogs! God damn ’em! He’d show ’em a -“damned nigger” knew how to die! Like a man! Here they come! God, but it -was tough to have to die! Just when life seemed so sweet! Wonder who’d -sit in his seat at Harvard! Hope a coloured boy’d get it! Harvard seemed -so far away from where he was! Looked like it was as far’s the moon! -Might as well be for him!</p> -<p>Look at ’em spreading out! Whyn’t they come up like men and get him? -There’s Jim Archer’s brother! Bang! Got him! Look at ’im squirm!</p> -<p>That’s two Archers won’t run after coloured girls any more! Bang! -Damn it, I missed ’im! Can’t waste ’em like that! Got to be more -careful! Must take better aim next time! Bang! Bang! Hell, I missed -again! Nope! Got one of ’em!</p> -<p>One—two—three—four gone! Six left! Five <span id="Page_235" -class="pagenum">[235]</span> for the “Crackers”! One for me! Bang! -Bang!</p> -<p>Got another! Must reload! One—two—three four! Nearly all gone! -Five—ten—fifteen minutes to live! Why did they pick on Mamie?</p> -<p>Whyn’t they take one of those girls that live in those houses on -Butler Street? That’s always running around after men? Why’d they bother -a nice girl like Mamie?</p> -<p>Bang! Listen at ’im howl? That’s music for you! Listen to the damn -“Peck” squalling!</p> -<p>What’s th’ matter? Looks like they’ve gone! Wonder if I can make a -run for it? Th’ damn cowards! Fifty—one hundred—a thousand—five -thousand—to one! That’s the way “Crackers” always fight coloured folks! -Never heard yet of one “Cracker” fighting one Negro! Have to have -thousan’ to kill one little fellow like Bob Harper!</p> -<p>Smoke? Can’t be smoke! Yes, it is! Goin’ t’ burn me up! Bang! Bang! -Got one of ’em!</p> -<p>My God! Only one bullet left! Never take him alive! Lynch him! Might -burn him! Burned coloured boy last month ’n Texas! Better not let ’em -get him! Good-bye, everybody! Good-bye!</p> -<p>Good-bye! Good⸺ Bang …</p> -<p>It was some time after Bob had died before the posse dared enter the -barn which by this time was burning rapidly. They feared the cessation -of firing was only a ruse to draw them into the open. At last, after -riddling the burning structure with bullets, a few of the more daring -cautiously approached the barn, entered, and found Bob’s body. After the -bul<span id="Page_236" class="pagenum">[236]</span>let from his own gun -had entered his head, killing him instantly, his body had fallen -backwards from the box on which he had been sitting. His legs were -resting on the box, his thighs vertical, his body on the floor and his -head slightly tilted forward as it rested against a cow-stall. His arms -were widespread. The empty revolver lay some ten feet away, where he had -flung it as he fell backwards. His face was peaceful. On it was a -sardonic smile as though he laughed in death at cheating the howling -pack of the satisfaction of killing him.</p> -<p>The mob dragged the body hastily into the open. The roof of the old -barn was about to fall in. Before dragging it forth, they had taken no -chances. A hundred shots were fired into the dead body. Partly in anger -at being cheated of the joy of killing him themselves. They tied it to -the rear axle of a Ford. Howling, shouting gleefully, the voice of the -pack after the kill, they drove rapidly back to town, the dead body, -riddled and torn, bumping grotesquely over the holes in the road. …</p> -<p>Back to the public square. In the open space before the Confederate -Monument, wood and excelsior had been piled. Near by stood cans of -kerosene. On the crude pyre they threw the body. Saturated it and the -wood with oil. A match applied. In the early morning sunlight the fire -leaped higher and higher. Mingled with the flames and smoke the exulting -cries of those who had done their duty—they had avenged and upheld white -civilization. …</p> -<p>The flames died down. Women, tiny boys and <span id="Page_237" -class="pagenum">[237]</span> girls, old men and young stood by, a -strange light on their faces. They sniffed eagerly the odour of burning -human flesh which was becoming more and more faint.</p> -<p>… Into the dying flames darted a boy of twelve. Out he came, laughing -hoarsely, triumphantly exhibiting a charred bone he had secured, -blackened and crisp. … Another rushed in. … Another. … Another. … Here a -rib. … There an armbone. … A louder cry. … The skull. … Good boy! -Johnny! … We’ll put that on the mantelpiece at home. … Five dollars for -it, Johnny! … Nothin’ doin’! … Goin’ to keep it myself! …</p> -<p>The show ended. The crowd dispersed. Home to breakfast.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_238" class="pagenum">[238]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XVIII -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">T</span><span -class="smallcaps">hree</span> men sat around a table that evening in the -office of Sheriff Parker in the court-house. The sheriff was one. -Another was Commissioner Henry Lane. The third was Ed Stewart.</p> -<p>The latter was talking.</p> -<p>“Yep, after I talked to that nigger Williams, I rustled ‘round among -the niggers on my place. At fust, they wouldn’t talk much. But I found a -way to make ’em! By God, a taste of a horse-whip’ll make any of ’em open -up! Found they’s only two niggers we got to worry ’bout. One’s this -nigger doctor. The other’s my nigger Tom Tracy. She’ff, if you hear’n -tell of an accident out to my place in the nex’ few days, you needn’t -bother to come out to investigate. It’ll be se’f-defence. Tom Tracy’s -goin’t come up on me with an open knife. I’m goin’ t’ shoot t’ save my -life.”</p> -<p>The three laughed at the good joke. The sheriff agreed not to bother. -“Good riddance!” he commented.</p> -<p>Stewart went on:</p> -<p>“Now ‘bout this other nigger. He’s the brains of the whole thing. But -we’ve got to be mighty careful, ’cause these other niggers thinks he -some sort of a tin god. Ef they think he’s bumped off ’cause of these -lodges he’s been organizing, they might raise <span id="Page_239" -class="pagenum">[239]</span> hell. Ev’ry nigger out my way would go -through hell ’n’ high water for him. Never seen ‘em think so much of -another nigger befo’. Mos’ the time they’ll come and tell me ev’rythin’ -that any them other niggers doin’. This nigger Harper’s got ‘em hoodooed -or somethin’.”</p> -<p>The sheriff broke into Stewart’s monologue in a complaining, -reminiscent fashion:</p> -<p>“Don’t know what’s gettin’ into the niggers nowadays. They ain’t like -they useter be. Take this nigger’s daddy, f’r example. Old man Harper -was as good a nigger’s I ever seen. If he met you on the street twenty -times a day, he’d take off his hat ’n’ bow almos’ to the groun’ ev’ry -time. But these new niggers, I can’t make heads nor tails of ‘em. Take -that uppity nigger they burned this mornin’. Always goin’ ’round with a -face on ’im like he’s swallowed a mess of crabapples. What if that Jim -Archer did have a little fun with the nigger’s sister? ’Twon’t hurt a -nigger wench none. Oughter be proud a white man wants her.”</p> -<p>His voice took on at the next remark a tone of pained and outraged -surprise.</p> -<p>“Nigger gals gettin’ so nowadays they think they’re’s good as white -women! And what ‘chu think that old fool Judge Stev’nson said t’ me -to-day? Had the nerve t’ sayt’ me that he don’t blame that nigger Bob -for killin’ Jim Archer!”</p> -<p>He demanded of his companions in an almost ludicrous surprise: -“What’s goin’t come of the South when <i>white men</i> like the judge -say such things? <span id="Page_240" class="pagenum">[240]</span> Guess -he’s gettin’ so old he’s kind of weak in the head! I tol’ him he’d -better not say that to nobody else. Somethin’ might happen to -<i>him!</i>”</p> -<p>“Damn Judge Stevenson!” broke in Stewart, anxious to get a chance to -tell his story. “He alw’ys was a sort of ‘nigger-lover’ anyway!”</p> -<p>Henry Lane spoke for the first time.</p> -<p>“Reck’n the Gov’nor’d say anythin’ ‘bout this burnin’?” he asked in a -tone that anticipated the answer.</p> -<p>Parker laughed ironically.</p> -<p>“What kin he do?” he demanded. He answered his own question. -“Nothin’! Under the laws of Georgy, he can’t even sen’ a man down here -to investigate unless he’s officially asked by citizens of th’ county! -And who’s goin’ t’ ask him?” He laughed again. “If anybody’s fool enough -to ask him, they’ll be havin’ a visit paid ‘em one of these nights! -Reck’n we don’t need to bother none ’bout the Gov’non meddlin’ in our -affairs,” he ended assuredly.</p> -<p>“Le’s get back to this Harper nigger ’n’ quit all this foolin’ -’round,” Stewart demanded, irritably. “How’re we goin’ t’ settle him?” -He added, after a pause: “Without stirrin’ up the niggers all over the -county?”</p> -<p>“An’ they ain’t all we got to look out for,” added Sheriff Parker. -“They’s some white folks ’round here who’ll kick up a stink if we ain’t -careful.” “Who’ll do that?” asked Stewart contemptuously. “Judge -Stev’nson can’t do it all by hisse’f.” “Well, there’s him an old Baird -an’ Fred Gris<span id="Page_241" class="pagenum">[241]</span>wold. An’ -then the one’s mos’ likely to raise the mos’ fuss is Roy Ewing. He -thinks a lot of that nigger lately for some reas’n. Ain’t been able t’ -figger it out as yet, but he sets a heap by him.” He scratched his head -in an abstracted manner. “Tol me over t’ the sto’ yestiddy that this -Harper’s a fine type of nigger t’ have ‘round Central City ’n’ that we -oughter encourage other niggers to be like him.”</p> -<p>“Another one gettin’ ol and weak-minded befo’ his time!” was -Stewart’s comment. “But I want t’ know if we’re goin’ to sit here all -night talkin’ ‘bout things that’s goin’ t’ keep us from punishin’ this -nigger or if we’re goin’ to get down to business. Fust thing we know, -we’ll be ‘lectin’ this nigger mayer the town!” His sarcasm was thinly -veiled, if veiled at all. Parker and Lane showed by the sudden flush on -their faces that the shot had reached its mark.</p> -<p>“You don’t have to be so cantankerous ’bout it, Ed.” Parker showed in -his voice, as well as on his face, that he didn’t particularly care for -Stewart’s brand of irony. “You know we’re jus’ as anxious as you to get -rid of him. But we got to be careful. You live out in the country ‘n’ -you don’t know the situation here in town like me ‘n’ Henry.”</p> -<p>He sat meditatively for a time. Stewart fidgeted in his chair, and -Henry Lane sat lost in thought. Parker suddenly sat up eagerly.</p> -<p>“I got it!” he exclaimed. The others looked at him inquiringly.</p> -<p>“We’ll fix it so’s we can say that Harper insulted a white -woman!”</p> -<p><span id="Page_242" class="pagenum">[242]</span> His companions -looked slightly disappointed and doubtful.</p> -<p>“How’re you goin’ t’ do that?” asked Lane. “This nigger, as fur’s I -can see, since he been back’s been stayin’ out where he b’longs in the -nigger section. Only time he comes over this way’s when he comes to the -bank or the sto’ or here to th’ court-house. That’s one thing I can say -in his fav’r! Bein’in France ain’t sp’iled him none so fur’s white -women’s concerned. If he ran around with them Frog women, he never tried -any of it ’round here.”</p> -<p>“It ain’t necessary for him to bother with white women in Central -City for us to put that on ’im,” Parker declared defensively. “Nearly -all white folks ev’n up No’th b’lieves that ev’ry time a nigger’s -lynched down this a way, its ’cause he’s raped a white woman.” His -manner became triumphant. “Here’s how we’ll fix it.”</p> -<p>The three men, although they were alone in the dark court-house and -there was none to hear, drew their chairs together. Their heads were -close for more than ten minutes, while they talked excitedly together. -Occasionally there would be a low burst of laughter—again an oath. At -last Stewart rose, took a paper-bound book from the desk, copied for -some time from it, and left the court-house.</p> -<p>The next morning each of fifteen “white, Protestant, Gentile” -citizens of Central City received a letter. There was no writing of any -sort on the envelope save their names and addresses. They were of -ordinary quality such as can be purchased at five <span id="Page_243" -class="pagenum">[243]</span> cents a package in any cheap stationery -store. In it was a letter typed on plain paper, of a quality to match -the cheapness of the envelope. There was no printing of any sort on the -letter, nor was it addressed other than: “Dear Sir.” It read:</p> -<div class="article"> -<p>“DEAR SIR:</p> -<p>“You have been chosen, as one known to be loyal, brave, and discreet, -to meet a situation affecting the welfare of the Nation, the State, and -the Community. You are hereby commanded to be present at the time and -place and date given on the enclosed card.</p> -<p>“Be wise! Be discreet! Discuss this with no one! Fail not!</p> -<div class="alignright"> -“THE COMMITTEE.” -</div> -</div> -<p>There was a plain card enclosed, also of cheap and easily obtained -quality, on which was typed a date, time, and place. …</p> -<p><i>Mirabile dictu</i>, each of the fifteen recipients of this cryptic -missive was a Ku Klux Klansman. …</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_244" class="pagenum">[244]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XIX -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">M</span><span class="smallcaps">rs. -Tucker</span> was operated on at Atlanta on Thursday morning at the -Auburn Infirmary, owned and conducted by a group of coloured physicians -of that city, as none of them could operate in the white hospitals. -Kenneth keenly enjoyed being in a hospital again, with all its -conveniences. The operation finished and Mrs. Tucker resting easily, he -purchased, after much picking and choosing, Jane’s engagement ring—a -beautiful, blue-white diamond solitaire.</p> -<p>That important task performed, he telephoned Dr. Scott, to whom Judge -Stevenson had given him a letter of introduction. So engrossed had he -been in the operation and the purchasing of the ring, he had almost -forgotten the promise made to the judge to see and talk with Dr. Scott, -known to be a liberal leader of Southern public opinion and one deeply -concerned with the problem of race relations.</p> -<p>“That’s a mighty intelligent plan you’ve worked out,” Dr. Scott -boomed over the wire. “I’d like to have you talk that over with me and -one or two others here. Can you do it before going home?”</p> -<p>Kenneth told him he had to leave early next morning for Central City. -As Dr. Scott had a meeting <span id="Page_245" -class="pagenum">[245]</span> that would keep him engaged all afternoon, -it was decided that they should meet that evening at an office in a -building downtown in the business section.</p> -<p>It was with a deal of eagerness—and with some degree of anxiety, for -he did not know how he would be received by Dr. Scott and the -others—that Kenneth set forth that evening for the meeting. He found -three men awaiting him in the office of John Anthony, who was one of the -three. His footsteps echoed in ghostlike fashion as he walked down the -hallway of the deserted building. From the open window there floated -from the street below the subdued clatter of automobiles, the cries of -newsboys, the restless shuffling of the leisurely crowd as it moved up -and down Peachtree Street. Kenneth sought to weigh the three, who were, -he felt, representatives of that “new South” of which so much was heard, -but signs of whose activities he had so seldom seen. He was seeking to -find out their motives, their plans of accomplishing that spirit of fair -play toward the Negro, to determine how far they would go towards -challenging the established order that was damning the South -intellectually, morally, economically. Kenneth, with too-high ideals for -his environment, was almost naïve in his eager search for the great -champion he had dreamed of who would brave danger and contumely and even -death itself for a newer and brighter day for his people in the South. -That hope had been dulled somewhat by the things he had seen since his -return to Central City, for he was not of an unreflective mind. Yet he -had not seen far <span id="Page_246" class="pagenum">[246]</span> enough -beneath the surface of that volcano of passion and hate and greed which -is the South to realize that the South had never produced a martyr to -any great moral cause one who had possessed sufficient courage to -oppose, regardless of consequences, any one of the set, dogmatic beliefs -of the South. True it was that there were some who had fought in the -Civil War with firm belief that the South was right—even though it had -been shown that their idealism was a perverted one. But even then these -had moved with the tide of sectional sentiment and not against it.</p> -<p>Educated in Southern schools where the text-books of history always -exalted the leaders of the Confederacy, raising Lee and Jackson and -Johnston and Gordon to heights but little lower than the heroes of -Grecian mythology, and ever tending to disparage and revile the Union -cause and its leaders, Kenneth, like many coloured youths, had accepted -the readymade and fallacious estimates set before him. It was, -therefore, but natural that he set his hopes for stalwart, unafraid -leadership too high and, at the same time, failed to realize that the -South had never begotten an Abraham Lincoln, a Garrison, a Sumner, or -even a meteor-like John Brown, bursting into brilliance born of -indignation against stupidity or ignorance or wrong and dying gloriously -for that cause. Kenneth’s eyes had partially been opened by his -memorable talk with Judge Stevenson. Etched upon his mind by the acid of -bitter truths were the judge’s words that the boasted Anglo-Saxonism of -the South <span id="Page_247" class="pagenum">[247]</span> had curdled -into moral cowardice on all subjects by the repression incident to the -race problem. Nevertheless Kenneth was too inexperienced as yet in the -ways of life to comprehend the full import of the older man’s cynicism. -He yet sought him who would fulfil his ideal of a great leader who, like -a latter-day Crusader, would guide white and black together out of the -impasse in which the South seemed to be. Kenneth thus anxiously examined -the three before him to see if by chance any one of them bore the -accolade which would stamp him the Moses that he sought.</p> -<p>Naturally enough, his eyes first went to Dr. Scott, as it was of him -that Judge Stevenson had spoken most favourably. Minister to one of the -larger Atlanta churches, he had spoken frequently and with considerable -vigour for Georgia in behalf of greater kindness and fairness toward the -Negro. He was very tall. His more than ordinary height with his -attenuated and lanky slenderness gave him an almost cadaverous -appearance which the loose suit of black mohair he wore accentuated. -From beneath the folds of a low collar there sprang a white -starched-linen bow tie, the four ends standing stiffly, each in a -separate direction, like the arms of a windmill. His rather large head -was bald on top but around the edges ran a fringe of yellowish-white -hair with curling ends that made his face appear rounder than it was. -Bushy eyebrows shaded pale blue eyes that twinkled in unison with the -ready smile which revealed large yellow teeth. Into his conversation Dr. -<span id="Page_248" class="pagenum">[248]</span> Scott injected at -frequent intervals ministerial phrases—“the spirit of Jesus”—“being -Christians”—“our Lord and Saviour.” He always addressed his white -companions as “Brother Anthony” and “Brother Gordon.” Kenneth he always -called “Doctor.”</p> -<p>Kenneth felt a certain doubt of Dr. Scott’s sincerity. He tried to -penetrate what seemed to be a mask over the minister’s face that -effectively hid all that revolved in the mind behind it. Something -intangible but nevertheless real blocked his path—an unctuous affability -that seemed too oily to be sincere. No, Kenneth reflected, Dr. Scott is -not the man. All of this examination had taken but a few seconds, yet -Kenneth’s mind was made up. In prejudging him so hastily, Kenneth did an -injustice to Dr. Scott that was unconscious but real. In his heart of -hearts Dr. Scott had realized that to accomplish anything at all in the -South towards enlightenment he must necessarily become, at least as -discretion seemed to dictate, a mental chameleon. He had suffered -because of that decision, for had circumstances placed him in a more -liberal and intelligent environment, he would have been far more -advanced in his religious and other beliefs. The traces of gold in the -ore that was his mind had been revealed in the suffering which had come -to him through his speaking out against a system that seemed to him -wrong.</p> -<p>He had been reviled, misunderstood both deliberately and by those who -were not so advanced as he. He had borne in silence whatever had come to -him, <span id="Page_249" class="pagenum">[249]</span> even threats of -tarring and of death from the Ku Klux Klan, seeking a course directed by -wisdom if not by valour.</p> -<p>While he was being introduced by Dr. Scott, Kenneth examined -critically the other two men. Mr. Anthony, who had volunteered the use -of his office for the conference, as no comment would be likely if the -four of them were seen in the office building, was first presented.</p> -<p>John Anthony might well have posed as model for a typical American -business man or lawyer. Of rotund figure, well-fed appearance, hair -close-cut, his face clean-shaven, clad in neatly tailored but -undistinguished clothing, he sat leaning slightly forward, his fingers -interlocked, his thumbs and forefingers holding his cravat while his -elbows rested on the arms of his chair. He acknowledged the introduction -to Kenneth with a brief “Pleased t’ meetcha.” He did not rise, nor -extend his hand in greeting, but he at once shrewdly appraised and -catalogued Kenneth. John Anthony’s interest in interracial affairs had -been first aroused by the war-time migration of Negroes to the North. -His personal fortunes had been touched directly by this loss of labour, -and the resultant decrease in profits had caused him to inquire into the -problem of the labourers who had been always so plentiful. Like most -Americans, and particularly those in Southern States, he had had no idea -of, or interest in, what Negroes were forced to endure. Though near to -this problem, he had been a living example of those in the proverb who -“live so <span id="Page_250" class="pagenum">[250]</span> close to the -trees, they cannot see the woods.” His inquiry, conducted with the -clear-sightedness and energy he had acquired from long business -training, had revealed brutalities and vicious exploitation that had -amazed and sickened him. He was too shrewd to believe that Negroes would -be restrained from leaving the South by attempts to picture Negroes -freezing to death in the North, or to try to beguile them by transparent -falsehoods to the effect that the Southern white man is the Negro’s best -friend. Though he did not voice it save to his more intimate friends, he -felt naught but contempt for the hypocrisy of those who too late were -attempting to flatter the Negro to keep him in the South. His motives -were therefore curiously mixed in his support of efforts toward -interracial goodwill. Economic in part were they, because retention of -Negro labour meant the continuation of his own successful business -career. Equally, almost, did they proceed from a hitherto latent sense -of moral indignation against the treatment which the South had accorded -to Negroes in the past. Direct of speech, analytical of mind, he went -straight to the heart of the problem with that same perspicacity that -had won for him more than usual success in his business of conducting -one of the South’s largest department stores.</p> -<p>Here again did Kenneth figuratively shake his head and decide that -John Anthony was not destined to be the Moses of the new South. He could -not for the life of him dissociate Anthony’s interest in behalf of -justice from his direct financial interest in <span id="Page_251" -class="pagenum">[251]</span> keeping Negroes in the South, where, with -the inevitable working of the law of demand and supply, a surplusage of -Negro labour would mean continued high profits for men like Anthony. -Kenneth was too young to know that the more largely a man profits from a -liberal cause, the more loyal will be his support of that cause and the -lesser likelihood of his defection when difficulties arise.</p> -<p>Of the three men, Kenneth felt greatest hope in the third—David -Gordon—younger than Kenneth, alert, capable, and with an engaging -frankness of face and of manner to which Kenneth warmed instinctively. -Gordon was a graduate of Harvard, where he for the first time in his -life had learned to know coloured fellow-students as men and human -beings instead of as “niggers.” At first he had rebelled strenuously, -his every instinct had revolted against dining in the same room, however -large, with a “nigger.” So indignant had he been that he had taken it up -with the president. Benign, kindly, clearheaded, and patriarchal, the -older man calmly and dispassionately and without rancour had shown -Gordon the injustice of his position—how unfair it was to deny an -education to a man for the sole offence of having been born with a black -skin. Before he quite knew how it had happened, Gordon found himself -ashamed of what now was seen to be petty nastiness on his part. So -interested had he become after his eyes were thus opened that he had -made a special study of the Negro problem. After finishing both his -college and law courses, he had returned to <span id="Page_252" -class="pagenum">[252]</span> Atlanta to practise law with his father. -His interest in the race question had increased since his return. He was -now one of that liberal and intelligent few who are most free from -prejudice an emancipated Southerner. Some inner voice told Kenneth -instantly that greatest hope of the three lay in David Gordon—and men -like him. …</p> -<p>The introductions completed, Dr. Scott opened the conversation.</p> -<p>“Doctor, we’ve heard of the society you’ve started in Central City. -Tell us how you’re getting along.”</p> -<p>“You have heard of it?” asked Kenneth in surprise. He did not know -his fame had preceded him.</p> -<p>“Oh, yes,” answered Dr. Scott. “You see, I know a man in the Klan -headquarters here. They’ve got, so I understand, a pretty full account -of your movements.”</p> -<p>“They honour me,” laughed Kenneth, a note of irony in his voice. He -was not a physical coward—threats bothered him little. He had paid -little attention to the report of the Klan meeting at Central City, -though it had worried his mother and Bob considerably. No more would he -be perturbed by any reports of his activities the Klan might have in -their files.</p> -<p>“Then, too, Judge Stevenson’s been writing me about you,” continued -Dr. Scott. “We are all interested in what you’re doing, Doctor, and we -want you to talk frankly. You can to us,” he added.</p> -<p>The three men were genuinely interested in the <span id="Page_253" -class="pagenum">[253]</span> plan on which Kenneth was working. They -were too intelligent to fail to see that something would have to be done -towards adjustment of race relations in the South to avert an inevitable -clash. What that something was they did not know. They felt the time was -not ripe for a challenge to the existing order, and they would not, in -all probability, have been willing to issue such a fiat had the time -been propitious. Yet they were anxious to examine the plans of this -coloured man, hoping against hope that therein might lie an easy -solution of the problem.</p> -<p>Frankly and clearly Kenneth told of the simple scheme. Occasionally -one of his hearers would interrupt him with a question, but for the most -part they heard him through in silence. The story ended, the three men -sat in silence as each revolved in his mind the possibilities of the -plan. John Anthony was the first to speak, and then he approached the -whole race problem instead of Kenneth’s plan for attacking one phase of -it.</p> -<p>“Doctor,” asked Mr. Anthony, “do you believe there is any solution to -the race problem? Just what is the immediate way out, as you see -it?”</p> -<p>“It would take a wiser man than I to answer that,” laughed Kenneth. -“You see, we’re in the habit of thinking that we can find a simple A-B-C -solution for any given problem, and the trouble is there are mighty few -that are simple enough for that.”</p> -<p>“Yes—yes—I know all that,” interjected Mr. Anthony, rather testily. -“What I want to hear is what you, as an intelligent Negro, think. I want -you to <span id="Page_254" class="pagenum">[254]</span> tell us exactly -what men like you are saying among yourselves.”</p> -<p>“Well, we’re talking about lynching—poor schools—the way Negroes are -denied the ballot in the South” began Kenneth.</p> -<p>“Er—that’s a thing we can’t discuss,” hastily interrupted Dr. Scott. -“Conditions in the South are too unsettled to talk about giving the -Negro the vote as yet.”</p> -<p>“As yet,” echoed Kenneth. “If we can’t discuss it now, when can we -talk about it?”</p> -<p>“It’ll be a long time,” answered Dr. Scott frankly. “There are a lot -of white people in the South who know disfranchisement is wrong. We know -that we can’t keep the ballot from the Negro always. But,” he ended with -a shrug of his shoulders and a thrust-ing-out of his hands, palms -upward, in a gesture of perplexity and despair Kenneth was learning to -know so well that he was associating it instinctively with the Southern -white man, “we’d stir up more trouble than we could cope with.”</p> -<p>“And while you’re waiting for the opportune time, conditions are -getting steadily worse, the problem is getting more complicated, and -it’ll be harder to solve the longer you put off trying to solve it,” -urged Kenneth. It was with an effort that he kept out of his voice the -impatience he felt. “Why don’t men like you three band together with -those who think as you do, so you can speak out?” he asked.</p> -<p>“That’s just what we are trying to do, but we have to go very -cautiously,” answered Dr. Scott. “We <span id="Page_255" -class="pagenum">[255]</span> must use discretion. How much are Negroes -thinking about voting?”</p> -<p>“They think about it all the time,” replied Kenneth. “We know the -mere casting of a ballot isn’t going to solve all our problems, but we -also know we’ll never be able to do much until we do vote.”</p> -<p>“You must be patient—wait until the time is ripe⸺” cautioned -Dr. Scott.</p> -<p>“Patience can be a vice as well as a virtue.” It was David Gordon who -spoke.</p> -<p>Kenneth looked at him gratefully.</p> -<p>“Your race’s greatest asset,” continued Dr. Scott, addressing his -remark to Kenneth, yet seeking to impart a gentle rebuke to Gordon, “has -been its wonderful gentleness under oppression. You must continue to be -sweet-tempered and patient⸺”</p> -<p>“That’s all very well to advise, but how would you or any other white -man act if you had to suffer the things the Negro has had to suffer?” -demanded Kenneth. “Suppose you saw your women made the breeding-ground -of every white man who desires them, saw your men lynched and burned at -the stake, saw your race robbed and cheated, lied to and lied about, -despised, persecuted, oppressed—how would you feel, Dr. Scott, if -somebody came to you and said: ‘Be patient’?”</p> -<p>Kenneth poured forth his words like a burning flood of -lava—indicative of the raging fires of resentment smouldering beneath. -He paused, completely out of breath. Dr. Scott flushed until his face -became a dull brick-red in colour. He restrained <span id="Page_256" -class="pagenum">[256]</span> with an effort the anger caused by the -coloured man’s impetuous words.</p> -<p>“I know—I know,” he said soothingly. “It’s hard, I know, but you must -remember the words of Jesus to his disciples: ‘When men shall persecute -and revile you⸺’ The spirit of Jesus is growing in the hearts of the -South—it will come to your rescue in due season.”</p> -<p>“We’re always hearing about this liberal white opinion,” rejoined -Kenneth, nettled by the unctuous suavity of the words, “but we so seldom -see any signs of it—almost never in places like Central City. Sometimes -I think it’s like trying to put your finger on mercury—when your finger -is about to touch it, it rolls away—it’s somewhere else. Meanwhile -lynching goes on.”</p> -<p>“You’re right, Doctor,” broke in John Anthony, who had been following -the conversation with deep interest though he had taken little part in -it. “We’ve got to do something, and that soon—the only problem is how to -do it. Now about your society in Smith County—tell us how we can help -you make it a success. Do you need any money to get it working -properly?”</p> -<p>Kenneth turned to the quiet man who had proposed the first tangible -offer to help.</p> -<p>“Thanks a lot for the offer,” replied Kenneth. “There are two things -I can think of that’ll be immediately helpful. One is that you and -Dr. Scott and Mr. Gordon do what you can to help mould pub<span -id="Page_257" class="pagenum">[257]</span>lic sentiment so this liberal -white opinion will become a force in the South against the Ku Klux Klan -and lynching and all the other forms of prejudice. That’s what seems to -me to be most needed.”</p> -<p>“Yes—yes—I agree with you, but tell us just exactly how we can help -you.” Anthony, in his direct way, was impatient of theorizing. “Do you -need any money—credit—legal advice—that is, any we can give quietly -without it getting out that we gave it?”</p> -<p>“Yes, there is something,” answered Kenneth. “Most of the men in our -societies have been working on shares for so many years that instead of -having any money, they owe their landlords large sums. The big problem -is credit for the things they need until they sell their crops next -fall.”</p> -<p>Kenneth gave a detailed statement of their needs and their plans. -John Anthony took notes as he talked and agreed to see what he could do -towards securing credit when they needed it. David Gordon volunteered -his aid as a lawyer. They rose to go. Anthony gazed intently at Kenneth -as he asked gravely:</p> -<p>“Doctor, have you thought of the possibility of—er—trouble if your -motives are not understood? That is, suppose some of the poor whites are -stirred up by the landlords and merchants you’re trying to take these -coloured farmers away from—have you figured out what might be the -result?”</p> -<p>“Yes, I have,” responded Kenneth. “I realize <span id="Page_258" -class="pagenum">[258]</span> there might be some who’d break up our -groups⸺”</p> -<p>“No—No—I mean to you personally,” interjected Anthony.</p> -<p>“I don’t think they’ll bother me,” was Kenneth’s confident reply. -“But if something should happen—well, if I can feel I’ve perhaps pointed -a way out for my people, I can die happy. … At any rate, killing or -running me away wouldn’t kill the spirit of revolt these coloured people -have it might stir it even higher. Not that I’ve any ambition for -martyrdom,” he ended with a laugh.</p> -<p>Kenneth spoke with no bravado, with none of the cant of the poseur. -His words, rather, were uttered with the simplicity of the earnest -seeker after truth—the unheroic but sincere worker in a cause that is -just.</p> -<p>“Let’s hope you’ll come through,” said Anthony. “I’m a Southerner -with all the traditions and prejudices of the South, but I wish you -luck.” He added after a pause: “You’ll need it.”</p> -<p>After Kenneth had gone, the three men looked at each other -questioningly.</p> -<p>“What do you think of him and his plan?” asked Dr. Scott, half to -himself.</p> -<p>It was Gordon who answered.</p> -<p>“It’s a good scheme—if it works. I’m mighty afraid, though, he’s -going to run into deep water if his societies grow very large. And the -pity of it is that we in Atlanta can’t help him if we dared.” Anthony -grunted.</p> -<p><span id="Page_259" class="pagenum">[259]</span> “And yet the South -is trying to solve the race problem and leave educated Negroes like -Harper entirely out of the equation. It’s about time we woke up.”</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_260" class="pagenum">[260]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XX -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">E</span><span -class="smallcaps">arly</span> Friday morning Kenneth left for Central -City, before the Atlanta <i>Constitution</i> appeared on the streets for -sale. Soon after his train left Macon on the way South, the engine blew -out a cylinder head. They remained there until another could be -dispatched from Macon to replace it. There had come to his -stopping-place in Atlanta, a few minutes after he had left, a telegram -which had been sent from a town twenty miles distant from Central City, -telling him to remain in Atlanta until further notice. Jane had paid a -man liberally to drive through the country to get the telegram off in -time. It would not have done to send such a wire from Central City. All -these things had so happened as though the very fates themselves were in -league against Kenneth.</p> -<p>In total ignorance of what had happened to Mamie and Bob and the -eventful chain of happenings since he had left Central City three days -before, Kenneth sat in the stuffy, odorous, and dirty Jim Crow car, -busied with his thoughts. A noisy and malodorous Negro sat next to him -who seemed to know some person at every one of the thousand and one -stations at which they stopped. Kenneth sat next to the window. His -companion leaned over him to stick his <span id="Page_261" -class="pagenum">[261]</span> head out of the window to shout -loud-mouthed and good-natured greetings to his friends on the ground. At -those few stations where he knew no one, he would ask foolish, sometimes -humorous questions of those he did not know. Kenneth stood it as long as -he could and then requested the troublesome fellow to be less annoying. -Kenneth, though vexed, was amused at the man’s complaint to another of -his kind behind him. “Humph!” he grunted. “Tha’s whut I say ‘bout a -dressed-up nigger—thinks he owns the train. I paid jes’ as much,” he -declared more aggressively, “as he did, an’ ef he don’t like it, he can -git off and walk.” At this, a long laugh at his own witty remark, but -Kenneth looked out of the window and paid no attention to him. His -thoughts were busy with other things.</p> -<p>Every few minutes he would feel the lump in the lower right-hand -vest-pocket with a touch that was almost loving in its tenderness. He -hoped Jane would like the ring—it had cost a little more than he had -expected to pay or could afford, but the best was none too good for a -girl like her. He could see Jane’s eyes now when he opened the little -box and she for the first time saw the glittering facets of the -beautiful stone. He smiled in anticipation of her joy. And then he’d put -it on her finger and she’d put her arms around his neck and he’d feel -again her warm, soft, passionate, clinging lips. Lucky he didn’t get too -deeply tied up with that girl years ago in New York. She had kissed as -though she’d had long practice at it. Too sophisti<span id="Page_262" -class="pagenum">[262]</span>cated—nothing like Jane. Jane wasn’t -experienced in kissing—but the thrill it gave him! It was funny about -girls. Most of them didn’ think a kiss meant very much. He had kissed -one—two—three—four—oh, lots of them! But all of them put together -couldn’t begin to equal in warmth, the vividness of one kiss from -Jane.</p> -<p>And just think of it—six weeks from now, and Jane would be -Mrs. Kenneth B. Harper! My, but that sounded good! Reverend Wilson would -marry them. Then they’d go to Atlantic City for their honeymoon.</p> -<p>Hoped the cotton crop would turn out well. Then he’d be able to -collect some of those long-outstanding accounts from the farmers. That -money would come in mighty handy right now. That’s the devil of being a -country doctor. You had to wait until the cotton crop was gathered and -sold before you could collect the bulk of what’s due you. And if the -cotton failed or the market was so flooded the price was down, you’d -have to wait on the most of them until the next year. Sometimes two or -three years. Dr. Johnson over at Vidalia had some accounts that’re six -years old. Oh, well, they’re good anyway. Couldn’t expect to practise in -the country districts unless you were willing to wait for your -money.</p> -<p>Wonder why this darned train doesn’t make better time. Slow as all -outdoors. Like molasses in winter-time. If it only gets in on time, I’ll -surprise Jane by running in on her on the way home. <span id="Page_263" -class="pagenum">[263]</span> Due in at five-fifty. Let’s see, it’s -four-thirty now. Where are we now? Hoopersville. Nearly ninety miles yet -to go. Good Lord, won’t get in until nearly eight o’clock! Hope we won’t -lose any more time. Don’t see why so darned many people are travelling -to-day anyhow. Just slows up the train, getting on and off with their -ten bundles and suitcases each.</p> -<p>Wonder how Bob feels about going to school.</p> -<p>Hope he’ll like the shirts I bought him. Ought to. Cost four dollars -apiece. Prices are certainly high. Few years ago you could get the best -shirts on the market for a dollar and a half apiece—not more than two -dollars.</p> -<p>I can see Jane now. Let’s see, it’s five o’clock. Probably getting -supper. Glad she can cook so well. Most girls nowadays can’t boil water -without burning it.</p> -<p>He reflected on the unusual conversation he had had the night before -with Dr. Scott, John Anthony, and Gordon. It was good to know there were -some white men who were thinking seriously on the race problem. And -trying to be fair. Most white Southerners were modern Pontius Pilates. -Figuratively and literally, mentally and morally, they washed their -hands of all personal responsibility for the increasing complexities of -the race question. He wondered how many more men there were in the South -like those three. Broadminded but afraid to speak out. Ewing, Judge -Stevenson, Scott, Anthony, Gordon—all by word or action seemed <span -id="Page_264" class="pagenum">[264]</span> mortally afraid lest the -public know they were even thinking of justice. How soon, he wondered, -would they gain sufficient courage to take a manly stand? Would that -time come before the inevitable clash that continued oppression would -cause?</p> -<p>Coloured folks weren’t going to stand it much longer. They were -organizing up North and even in the South to use legal means to better -their lot. But some of them were getting desperate. Armed resistance -would be foolish. Would be certain death. At any rate, even that would -be better than what has been going on.</p> -<p>Good Lord, he reflected, let’s forget the race problem awhile! A -Negro never gets away from it. He has it night and day. Like the sword -of Damocles over his head. Like a cork in a whirling vortex, it tosses -him this way and that, never ceasing. Have to think about something else -or it’ll run him crazy. Guess Mary Ewing’s about out of danger now.</p> -<p>Glad when she’s all right again. Don’t like to be going over there to -those white folks’ house. Neighbours might begin to talk. How much can I -charge Roy Ewing? Two hundred dollars? Yes, he can stand it. Hope he’ll -pay me soon. Can use it when Jane and I go on our honeymoon. Just about -cover our expenses. Honeymoon. Always thought it a darned silly name. -But it doesn’t sound so bad now. Not when it was mine and Jane’s.</p> -<p>Thank Goodness, there’s Ashland! Next stop’s Central City. Be home in -an hour. Guess I’ll go home first and take a bath and put on some clean -<span id="Page_265" class="pagenum">[265]</span> clothes. Feel dirty all -over and there are a thousand cinders down my back. Ugh, but this is a -nasty ride! Hope Bob’ll be at the train with the car. …</p> -<p>Kenneth descended from the train and looked for Bob. He wasn’t there. -He looked around for some other coloured man to drive him home. He knew -it was useless to try and get any of the white taxi-drivers to take him -home—they would have considered it an insult to be asked to drive a -Negro. He thought it strange that there were no Negroes to be seen. -Usually there were crowds of them. It formed the biggest diversion of -the day for white and coloured alike to see the train come in. It was -the familiar longing for travel—adventure contact with the larger and -more interesting things of the outside world, though none of them could -have given a reasonable statement of the fundamental psychological -reactions they were experiencing when they went to the station. They -never thought of it in that light—it was simply a pleasurable item in -the day’s course. That was enough.</p> -<p>When he found no one around, Kenneth picked up his bag and started -down the platform to the street. He noticed, but paid little attention -to, the silence that fell over the various groups as he passed. He heard -a muttered oath but it never occurred to him that it might have any -possible connection with himself. Intent on reaching home, seeing the -folks, telephoning Hiram Tucker that his wife had passed safely through -her operation and was resting well<span id="Page_266" -class="pagenum">[266]</span>—eager to get freshened up and go over to -Jane’s, he cut across a field that would save a half-mile walk instead -of going the longer route through Lee Street and town. Swinging along in -a long, free stride reminiscent of his army days, he continued the -musing he had done on the train.</p> -<p>He thought nothing of the fact that his house was darkened. He rang -the bell but no one answered. Thinking his mother and Mamie were out -visiting in the neighbourhood, he dug down in his bag, got his keys, and -let himself into the house. His mother was coming down the stairs, an -oil lamp in her hands. As he went up to kiss her, he noticed her eyes -were sunken and red. Anxiously he inquired the reason.</p> -<p>“Oh, Kenneth, my boy—my boy—haven’t you heard?”</p> -<p>She burst into a torrent of weeping, her head on his shoulders. He -took the lamp from her hand perplexedly and placed it on the table.</p> -<p>“Heard what, mamma? What’s the matter? What’s happened? Why are you -crying like this? What’s wrong?”</p> -<p>The questions poured out of him like a flood. For some time his -mother could not speak. Her sobs racked her body. Though she tried to -control herself, every effort to do so but caused her to weep the more. -Kenneth, puzzled, waited until she could gain control of herself. He -thought it funny she carried on this way—she’d never acted like this -before. She had always been so well poised. But <span id="Page_267" -class="pagenum">[267]</span> his alarm and feeling of impending disaster -increased to definite proportions when the flood of tears seemed -endless.</p> -<p>“Where’s Bob?” he asked, thinking that he could find out from his -brother what had gone wrong. At this a fresh burst of weeping greeted -him. He led her into his reception room and sat her down on the lounge -and himself beside her. At last, between body-tearing sobs, she told -him.</p> -<p>“Great God!” he shouted. “No! No! Mamma, it can’t be true! It can’t -be true!” But even as he demanded that she tell him it was not true, he -knew it was. …</p> -<p>Mrs. Harper’s lamentations were even as those of that other Rachel -who wept for her children because they were not. Kenneth sat stunned. It -was too terrible—too devastating—too cataclysmic a tragedy to -comprehend! Mamie—his own dear little sister—torn, ravished, her life -ruined! Bob—with all his fire and ambition, his deep sensitiveness to -all that was fine and beautiful, as well as his violent hatred of the -mean, the petty, the vicious, the unjust, the sordid-Bob-his -brother—dead at the hands of a mob! Thank God, he had died before they -laid hands on him!</p> -<p>He laughed—an agonized, terrible mockery that made his mother look at -him sharply. He had been a damned fool! He thought bitterly of his -thoughts on the train a few hours before. Good God, how petty, how -trivial they seemed now! Surely that couldn’t have been just hours ago? -It must have <span id="Page_268" class="pagenum">[268]</span> been -centuries—ages—æons since. He heard the crickets chirping outside the -window. From down the street there floated a loud laugh. His wilted -collar annoyed him. Cinders from the train scratched his back. He -wondered how in such a circumstance he could be conscious of such -mundane things.</p> -<p>He laughed again. His mother had ceased her loud wails of grief and -sat rocking to and fro, her arms folded tightly across her breast as -though she held there the babe who had grown up and met so terrible a -fate. Low, convulsive sobs of anguish seemed to come from her innermost -soul. … She anxiously touched Kenneth on the shoulder as he laughed. It -had a wild, a demoniacal, an eerie ring to it that terrified her. …</p> -<p>What was the use of trying to avoid trouble in the South, he thought? -Hell! Hadn’t he tried? Hadn’t he given up everything that might -antagonize the whites? Hadn’t he tried in every way he could to secure -and retain their friendship? By God, he’d show them now! The -white-livered curs! The damned filthy beasts! Damn trying to be a good -Negro! He’d fight them to the death! He’d pay them back in kind for what -they had brought on him and his!</p> -<p>He sprang to his feet. A fierce, unrelenting, ungovernable hatred -blazed in his eyes. He had passed through the most bitter five minutes -of his life. Denuded of all the superficial trappings of civilization, -<span id="Page_269" class="pagenum">[269]</span> he stood there the -primal man—the wild beast, cornered, wounded, determined to -fight—fight—fight! The fire that lay concealed in the flint until -struck, now leaped up in a devastating flame at the blows it had -received! All the art of the casuist with which he had carefully built -his faith and a code of conduct was cast aside and forgotten! He would -demand and take the last ounce of flesh—he would exact the last drop of -blood from his enemies with all the cruelty he could invent!</p> -<p>His mother, whom he had forgotten in the intensity of his hatred, -became alarmed at the light in his eyes. He shook off the hand with -which she would have restrained him.</p> -<p>“Oh, Ken!” she cried anxiously. “What’re you going to do?”</p> -<p>“I’m going to kill every damned ‘Cracker’ I find!” She fell to her -knees in an agony of supplication and clung to him, the while he tried -to loose her arms from around his knees. He shook as with a chill—his -face had become vengeful, ghastly. Filled with a Berseker rage, he was -eager to tear with his hands a white man—any white man—limb from -limb.</p> -<p>“Kenneth, my boy! My boy!” cried his mother. “You’re all I’ve got -left! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! My little Bob is dead! My Mamie is -ruined! You’re all I’ve got! You’re all I’ve got! Don’t leave me, -lambkins! Don’t leave your old mother all alone, honey!”</p> -<p>In her torture at the prospect of losing this, her <span -id="Page_270" class="pagenum">[270]</span> last child, she used again -the endearing names she had called him when he was a babe in her -arms—endearments she had not used since.</p> -<p>“Mamma, I’ve got to! I’ve got to! God, if I only can find those who -killed him!” he shouted. She, like a drowning person, clutched at the -fragile straw his last words implied. Her voice was almost a prayer.</p> -<p>“But you don’t know, Ken, you don’t know who was in the mob!” she -cried. “That Jim Archer and Charley Allen—they’re the only ones Mamie -recognized! And they’re dead—they’ve paid! My little Bob killed them! -Who’re you going to get? How’re you going to find out to-night who the -others were? You can’t, Ken, you can’t!”.</p> -<p>She realized this was her only hope. If she could only keep him in -the house the rest of the night, when morning came she was sure he would -be more calm. He would realize then how foolish and foolhardy his -intentions of the night before had been. She pleaded—she begged—she -moaned in her terror. He tried to shake her off. He did loosen her grip -around his knees where she had clung like death itself. As he leaned -over to pry her hands loose and was about to succeed, she grasped his -arm and held on. He tried to jerk his arm loose and rush from the house. -She was struggling now with that fierce, grim, relentless tenacity and -courage of the mother fighting for her young. She held on. His jerks -dragged her over the floor but she was conscious neither of the act nor -the pain. She would have <span id="Page_271" -class="pagenum">[271]</span> died there gladly if by so doing she could -restrain her boy from rushing forth to certain death. Oh, yes, he might -get one or two before he died. Maybe five or ten. But the odds were all -against him. Death would most surely overtake him before morning.</p> -<p>Kenneth raged. He cursed in spite of himself. She did not even -comprehend what he said nor the significance of his words. She did not -even consciously hear them. He damned without exception every white man -living. The damned cowards! The filthy curs! The stinking skunks, -fighting a thousand against one!</p> -<p>“Superior race”! “Preservers of civilization”! “Superior,” indeed! -They called Africans inferior! They, with smirking hypocrisy, reviled -the Turks! They went to war against the “Huns” because of Belgium! None -of these had ever done a thing so bestial as these “preservers of -civilization” in Georgia! Civilization! Hell! The damned hypocrites!</p> -<p>The liars! The fiends! “White civilization”! Paugh! Black and brown -and yellow hands had built it! The white fed like carrion on the rotting -flesh of the darker peoples! And called their toil their own! And burned -those on whose bodies their vile civilization was built!</p> -<p>Bob had been right! Bob had been a man! He’d fought and died like a -man! He, Kenneth, with all his professed and vaunted wisdom, was the -coward! He cursed himself! Building a fool’s paradise! A house of cards! -To hell with everything! What <span id="Page_272" -class="pagenum">[272]</span> was life worth anyway? Why not end it all -in one glorious orgy of killing?</p> -<p>In his agonized fulmination against the whites and in his vow of -vengeance on those who had dealt him so cruel and heart-sickening a -blow, Kenneth forgot those who had been and were true friends of the -black man—who had suffered and died that he might be free. He forgot -those who, though few in number and largely inarticulate, were fighting -for the Negro even in the South. Kenneth’s grief, however, was too deep -and the blow too crushing for him to think of these in his hour of -despair.</p> -<p>At length his raging subsided a little. His mother was pleading with -him with a fervour he had never believed she possessed. Snatches of her -words penetrated his mind.</p> -<p>“… and who’ll protect Mamie and me? … all alone … you’re all we’ve -got! … need you … need you now as never before … mustn’t leave us now … -mustn’t leave …”</p> -<p>He sank to the floor exhausted by the fierceness of his rage. A -feeble cry came from above stairs. “It’s Mamie!” his mother whispered, -frightened. She left him lying there to rush to her other child. Before -she left she made Kenneth promise he wouldn’t go out before she -returned. He lay on the floor as in a stupor. It was his Gethsemane. He -felt as though some giant hand was twisting his very soul until it bled. -He thought of the hours Mamie had lain in the field after the fiends had -accomplished their foul purpose on her. Bleeding, torn, rayished! <span -id="Page_273" class="pagenum">[273]</span> Mamie, always tender, so -unselfish, so unassuming—God, why hadn’t he thought more of her and been -more considerate of her? No, he’d been so wrapped up in his own -happiness and future he’d never given her much attention or thought. Why -hadn’t he? Why had he been so selfish? How could he make up to her for -all his remissness of the past?</p> -<p>That brought to his mind what his mother had said. They did need him -now! More than ever before! How could he have started on his rampage of -revenge had his mother not held him? Where and on whom would he have -begun?</p> -<p>But wasn’t this cowardice not to exact some kind of revenge? He hated -himself at the mere thought of cowardice at this time. Good God, he had -had enough of that all along! Wouldn’t Bob in death curse him if he -failed now to play the man? Or wouldn’t it take more courage to live? -The thought comforted him.</p> -<p>As though the sounds were worlds away, he heard his mother moving in -the room above as she ministered to Mamie’s wants. He heard the noises -of the street. Miles away a dog barked. Nearer a rooster crowed. He -thought of a sermon Reverend Wilson had preached the Sunday before. Of -the Christ in his hour of betrayal. Of Peter denying his Lord. And the -cock crowing thrice. Wasn’t he denying his duty—his family—his -conscience—his all? Back again over the same ground he had already -travelled so thoroughly, his mind went. …</p> -<p>For hours he lay there. The noises of the street <span id="Page_274" -class="pagenum">[274]</span> ceased. He heard no more his mother above. -Exhausted with the ordeal through which she had passed, she had probably -fallen asleep. … And yet he did not move. He heard the clock in the hall -strike eleven. … He counted the strokes, marvelling the while that time -was yet measured in hours and minutes and days. … His soul was even as -the body of a woman in travail. …</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_275" class="pagenum">[275]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXI -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">K</span><span -class="smallcaps">enneth</span> lay on the floor he knew not how long. -At last he awakened to the realization that his telephone was ringing -furiously.</p> -<p>Subconsciously he was aware of the fact that it had been ringing for -some time. He lay there and let it ring. -Telephone—office—house—profession—life itself—all seemed vague and -nebulous phenomena remote from his existence far from him and as -uninteresting to him as life on Mars.</p> -<p>The raucous dissonance continued. “R-r-r-r-r,” the bell seemed to -scream in its existence. It was like a mosquito in a darkened room when -one wanted to get to sleep. “Damn the telephone!” he cried aloud. “Let -the fool thing ring its head off!”…</p> -<p>He thought of Jane. He wondered if she would be content to remain in -Central City after the disasters to Mamie and Bob. If she didn’t, then -they’d part. He was going to stay there if all hell froze over until he -found who had composed the mob that had killed Bob. Until he had wreaked -the utmost in vengeance upon them. … But Jane would feel just as he did. -She was no coward! Hadn’t she been the one to awaken him to the -asininity of his own course in trying to keep away from the race <span -id="Page_276" class="pagenum">[276]</span> problem? No, she’d stick! She -wasn’t the quitting kind! …</p> -<p>The telephone bell shrilled as though it were human—it sounded like a -vinegar-dispositioned virago berating her spouse. It paused only, -apparently, to catch enough breath to break forth again. Its shrieking -reverberations beat upon his eardrums in wave after wave of sound until -it seemed as though he would go mad. “Why doesn’t the fool get it -through his head that there’s nobody here to answer?” he exclaimed in -vexation that bordered on hysteria. He pressed the heels of his palms -against his ears as tightly as he could. That was better! He could hear -himself think now. …</p> -<p>Mamie and her mother couldn’t stay in Central City, though. Too -terrible for them—especially for Mamie to stay here where she couldn’t -help but see, every day, things that’d remind her of her awful -experience. And where fool people would come in with long faces to -sympathize with her and drive her mad. People were such asses! Why -didn’t they have sense enough to show their sympathy by staying away? -Instead of coming in and sitting around, talking empty nothings by the -hour? Old Mrs. Amos would be that way. And Mrs. Bradley. They were such -nuisances. Wonder if he hadn’t better send Mamie and mamma to -Philadelphia to his Uncle Will? Or would it be best to send them to -Virginia to his Uncle Jim? No, that wouldn’t do. Best for them to leave -the South entirely. Where <span id="Page_277" -class="pagenum">[277]</span> they could get away from everything that’d -remind them of Georgia. No, they’d go to Philadelphia. Suppose -Mrs. Tucker’s about able to take some slight nourishment now. Good Lord, -had he performed the operation only yesterday morning?</p> -<p>That couldn’t be possible! Too much has come in between then and now. -Must have operated on her in a previous existence. And died since. -Reincarnation? Yes, that’s the word. Never thought he’d actually -experience it himself. …</p> -<p>His arms and hands became tired from pressing on his ears. His ears -ached. He loosened the pressure on them a bit. The telephone was yet -ringing. Lord, he moaned, the thing will drive me crazy! Won’t be able -to live long enough to get those damned scoundrels who murdered Bob. He -decided to answer it, curse the voice on the other end, and hang up. He -tried to get up from the floor. There was a terrible pain in his legs. -He was sore all over. He crawled over to the desk in his office and -painfully pulled himself to a seat in his office chair. He stretched his -arm out to pull the telephone to him. A sharp twinge shot through his -arm and he groaned. He caught the cord in his hands and slowly pulled -the instrument to him and placed the receiver to his ear. At first he -could not speak. He made several ineffectual efforts. At last a faint, -hoarse “Hello” was wafted into the mouthpiece.</p> -<p>“Oh, Rachel, I’m so glad to hear your voice. This is -Mrs. Ewing—Mrs. Roy Ewing over on Georgia <span id="Page_278" -class="pagenum">[278]</span> Avenue. I’ve been trying to get you for -half a hour. Has your son come home from Atlanta yet?”</p> -<p>The voice went chattering on while Kenneth tried to moisten his -parched throat sufficiently to speak. It seemed to him that his -saliva-producing gland must have died along with his hope of a peaceful -existence in Central City. Finally, he was able to speak. He answered -Mrs. Ewing wearily:</p> -<p>“This isn’t Mrs. Harper, Mrs. Ewing. This is Dr. Harper.”</p> -<p>“Oh, my God! Why did you come back?” she exclaimed.</p> -<p>Puzzled at her tone, Kenneth abruptly answered: “Why shouldn’t I have -come back?”</p> -<p>She laughed nervously</p> -<p>“Nothing—oh, nothing. But I’m awfully sorry about what’s happened.” -At a disbelieving grunt that came to her over the wire, she hastened to -add: “Really I am—I am from the very bottom of my heart!”</p> -<p>She went on philosophically before Kenneth could reply.</p> -<p>“But everything’ll come out all right, don’t you fear. Doctor, I’m so -glad for one reason you’re back. Mary’s had a set-back and she’s in an -awful fix. Dr. Bennett can’t do nothing for her. I know it’s awful hard -to ask you, but can’t you come over and see what you⸺”</p> -<p>“No, damn it, no!” shouted Kenneth into the mouthpiece. His voice -mounted higher and higher in the rage that possessed him. “No, I hope -she’ll <span id="Page_279" class="pagenum">[279]</span> die—I hope -she’ll die! And every other white beast that’s living! No! No! No! No!” -he shouted as though mad.</p> -<p>He started to slam the receiver down upon its hook. The voice of -Mrs. Ewing came to him in an agonized moan and made him pause.</p> -<p>“Oh, Doctor, don’t take it out on my po’ little Mary. I know just how -you feel, but don’t blame it on her! Please, Doctor, please come over -and I’ll never bother you again! If you don’t come, I jus’ know she’ll -die!” she begged.</p> -<p>Kenneth’s fit of passion had passed. In its stead there came a cold, -terrifying calmness that was but another form of the raging torment and -fury in his breast. He spoke with biting directness into the -telephone:</p> -<p>“Mrs. Ewing, if by raising one finger I could save the whole white -race from destruction, and by not raising it could send them all -straight down to hell, I’d die before I raised it! You’ve murdered my -brother, my sister’s body, my mother’s mind, and my very soul! No, I -know that,” he said to her interjected remark, which he repeated. “I -know you didn’t do it with your own hands! But you belong to the race -that did! And the race that’s going to pay for every murder it’s -committed!”</p> -<p>He paused for breath and then continued his vitriolic diatribe -against the white race. It was relieving his brain, he found, to be able -thus to vent his spleen on a white person. He went on in the same voice -of deadly calm and precision of statement:</p> -<p><span id="Page_280" class="pagenum">[280]</span> “And where’s that -cowardly husband of yours?” he demanded in a voice of rising fury. “Why -didn’t he come and ask me to save your daughter? No, he’s like the rest -of the damned cowards—makes his wife do it, thinking I’m fool enough not -to know he’s there at the telephone telling you what to say. No, no, -wait until I’m through! … He’s where? Atlanta? What’s he doing there? -Why did he leave his daughter when he knew she might die any minute? Oh, -no! You can’t feed me any bait like that! I’m through, I tell you—I’m -through listening to the lying flattery you white folks use to fool -ignorant and blind Negroes like me! What? Why—I don’t see—don’t -understand! Oh, well, I suppose I might as well, then. Yes, I’ll be over -within ten minutes. Tell Dr. Bennett to wait there until I come. What? -He’s gone! All right, I’ll come! Good-bye!”</p> -<p>Slightly puzzled, he hung up the receiver and sat for a minute gazing -at the desk pad in front of him, but seeing nothing. Why should Roy -Ewing have gone to Atlanta to see him? Ewing knew he’d be back on -Friday. He had told him so before leaving. It was mighty strange for him -to act that way.</p> -<p>His mother entered the room, awakened by the sound of his shouting -over the telephone. She spoke to him apologetically for having left him -so long.</p> -<p>“Mamie was so restless,” she explained, “and when I got her quiet at -last, I must have fallen asleep sitting there by her bed.” On her face -there came a <span id="Page_281" class="pagenum">[281]</span> wistful -smile. “You see, I haven’t been to sleep for three days now.”</p> -<p>Kenneth went to her and put his arm around her.</p> -<p>“That’s all right, mamma, that’s all right. I’m glad you did get a -minute’s rest. You needed it. What’s that? Oh, yes, I feel much better -now. The storm has passed for a time, I reckon. I’m going to run over to -the Ewings’ for a minute—Mary’s in a bad way. Oh, that’s all right, you -needn’t worry,” he hastily interjected at his mother’s cry of alarm. -“The streets are empty now—everybody’s in bed. I’ll go there and come -straight back as soon as Mary’s resting easily again,” he promised in -order to quiet her fears. “There won’t be anybody for me to see on the -streets, much less start any trouble with. You go to bed and I’ll come -in and sit with you for a few minutes when I come back.”</p> -<p>With this promise Mrs. Harper had to be content. Her fears allayed, -Kenneth kissed her and helped her up the stairs to her room. Going back -to his office, he put the things in his bag he would be likely to need, -went out to the garage in the rear, cranked up the Ford, and drove over -to Georgia Avenue to treat a white patient less than seventy-two hours -after the double catastrophe which had descended upon him and his family -at the hands of those same white people.</p> -<p>As he drove out of the yard, he heard his mother call from her -window: “Hurry back, sonny.” It had been more than fifteen years since -she had last <span id="Page_282" class="pagenum">[282]</span> called him -that. … He drove through the darkened streets of Central City-down Lee -Street past the deserted business houses, past the Confederate Monument, -and on across that intangible, yet vivid line that separated the élite -of the whites of Central City from the less favoured. …</p> -<p>His mind intent on his own tragedy, Kenneth drove on, guiding his car -without conscious volition, mechanically. His conscious mind was too -busy revolving the string of events and trying to find some solid spot, -it mattered not how small, on which he could set mental foot. …</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_283" class="pagenum">[283]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXII -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">F</span><span -class="smallcaps">ifteen</span> men sat around a table in an office on -Lee Street. There was above them a single electric-light bulb, -fly-specked, without a shade over it. At eleven o’clock they had -silently crept up the stairs after looking cautiously up and down the -deserted expanse of Lee Street to see if they were observed. Like some -silent, creeping, wolf-like denizen of the forest, each had stolen as -noiselessly as possible up the stairs. The window carefully covered, no -ray of light could be seen from the outside. Though unsigned, the -mysterious note each of the fifteen had received that morning had -brought them all together promptly.</p> -<p>A fat man, with tiny eyes set close together, looking from amazing -convolutions of flesh which gave him the appearance of a Poland-China -hog just before slaughtering-time, was giving instructions to the men as -they eagerly and closely followed his words. He occasionally emphasized -his points by pounding softly on the pine table before him with large, -over-sized fists covered profusely with red hair. He was clad in a -nondescript pair of trousers, a reddish faded colour from much wear and -the red dust of his native hills, a shirt open at the neck and of the -same colour as the trousers, the speaker’s neck <span id="Page_284" -class="pagenum">[284]</span> innocent of collar and tie. He was ending -his instructions:</p> -<p>“… Now you-all mus’ r’member all I said. You mus’n’ fail! When the -accident happens”—here he laughed softly as he emphasized the word -“accident,” and was rewarded by an appreciative titter from his audience -“when the accident happens, you ain’t t’breathe a word to anybody ‘bout -it! Even th’ others here to-night!”</p> -<p>He paused impressively and allowed his eyes slowly to traverse the -group, resting upon each man in turn a penetrating, malevolent stare. -Measuring his words carefully, he spat them out like bullets from a -Browning gun.</p> -<p>“Th’ mos’—important—thing—you got to r’member is this! You’re not—to -repo’t—back to me or any off’cer—of the Invis’ble Empire!” He paused -again. “After—the “accident”—happens!” he added.</p> -<p>“I reck’n that’s all you need to know,” he said in dismissal. “He -came back t’night from Atlanty! We’ve got the newspaper fixed! Ef any of -you is arrested, I don’t reck’n She’ff Parker’ll hol’ you long!” he -concluded with a confident laugh in which his companion joined. …</p> -<p>Though there was none to hear or see, they dispersed with silent and -cautious movements and voices. They crept down the unlighted stairs, -hands extended, fingers touching the walls on either side to aid them in -making as little noise as possible. As the foremost reached the landing -at the botton, he drew back sharply as he was about to step into the -street.</p> -<p><span id="Page_285" class="pagenum">[285]</span> “Sh-h-h-h!” he -cautioned the others behind him. “Somebody’s comin’ lickety-split down -the road in a Ford!”</p> -<p>They all waited with bated breath. The leader peered forth cautiously -to see who it was stirring about at that time of night. The others -waited, poised on the stairs above him.</p> -<p>Lee Street was bathed alternately in moonlight and shadow as a -vagrant moon wove its way in front of and behind small patches of -clouds. The clattering car approached—came abreast the doorway—and -passed rapidly by</p> -<p>“It’s that damn nigger himself!” he exclaimed to the men behind him. -“What’n th’hell’s he doin’ out this time of night ‘round here? An’ -headed towards Georgy Avenue, too! It’s damn funny!”</p> -<p>There was an outburst of excited whispering. Various speculative -surmises were offered. None was able to offer a sensible reason for -Kenneth’s nocturnal pilgrimage. One proposed that Kenneth be followed to -see where he went and why he went there. Afar off could be heard the -puttering of the engine. And then it stopped.</p> -<p>“Ain’t gone far,” one of them declared. They set out to trail the -automobile. Before they had gone two blocks, they saw Kenneth down the -street as he tinkered with the engine of the car, the hood raised. One -of the wires connecting with a sparkplug had become loosened. He quickly -screwed it tight again, started the engine, and drove off, as he was -closely watched from the shadows of trees and <span id="Page_286" -class="pagenum">[286]</span> fences by his trailers. They pushed forward -to keep as close as they could, hoping to be guided by the sound of the -engine.</p> -<p>He drove but a few yards more and then drew up and stopped in front -of Roy Ewing’s house. Getting out, he took his bag from the floor of the -car and entered the house quickly as the door opened to admit him.</p> -<p>There was another short session of excited whispering among the -watchers.</p> -<p>“What’n the hell’s he goin’ to Roy Ewing’s house for?” one of them -demanded. “Roy Ewing went t’Atlanty this mornin’ on important business! -Heard him tell George Baird down t’ the bank to-day he was goin’!”</p> -<p>“Th’ damn sneaky bastard!” another one declared venomously. “I -thought he was mighty slick, but didn’t know he was foolin’ ‘round with -a woman like Roy Ewing’s wife! I allus said these niggers who went to -France an’ ran with those damn French-women’d try some of that same -stuff when they came back! Ol’ Vardaman was right! Ought never t’ have -let niggers in th’army anyhow!”</p> -<p>And so it went. They had caught the “slick nigger” with the goods on -him! They talked eagerly among themselves in subdued tones as to what -would be the best course to pursue. Some were all for rushing into the -house and catching them together. None of them entertained the opinion -that Kenneth could have gone to Roy Ewing’s house with Roy Ewing out of -town for any other purpose than for <span id="Page_287" -class="pagenum">[287]</span> sexual adventure. Their convictions were -strengthened when the light in the lower hall which had been shining -when the door was opened to admit Kenneth was extinguished, and another -appeared in a few minutes in the bedroom on the second floor which faced -on the streets, and the shades lowered. …</p> -<p>The fat man who had been speaking in the office on Lee Street a few -minutes before abruptly ended the conjecturing.</p> -<p>“‘Tain’t no use t’ stand here all night talkin?!” he asserted. “We’ll -jus’ stay here and see what’s goin’ t’ happen! Looks damn funny t’ me! -Tom! You ‘n’ Sam ‘n’ Jake go ‘roun to th’ back do’ an’ watch there! -Bill! You ‘n’ Joe ‘n’ Henry watch that side do’! Me ‘n’ the res’ll stay -here and watch th’ front do’! Then, when he sneaks out, we’ll get him -any way he comes!” …</p> -<p>Within the house, Kenneth, all unaware of what was going on outside, -was listening to Mrs. Ewing as she excitedly told him of Mary’s change -for the worse, and as she explained her husband’s absence. She was so -worried over her daughter’s condition that Kenneth realized she would -never be able to solve the mystery of her words over the telephone until -he had done what he could for Mary. He therefore asked no questions but -followed her up the stairs to Mary’s room, although his brain was -whirling, it seemed to him, like the blades of an electric fan.</p> -<p>Mary Ewing was in a worse condition than even her mother knew. This -Kenneth realized as soon <span id="Page_288" -class="pagenum">[288]</span> as he looked into her flushed face and -measured her pulse and temperature. He questioned Mrs. Ewing as to her -daughter’s diet. The cause of her relapse became clear to him when she -told him with a naïve innocence that since Mary had begged so hard that -day for something to eat, she had, with Dr. Bennett’s consent, given her -a glass of milk and a small piece of fried chicken. Kenneth set to work. -He knew it was useless to berate the mother for disregarding his express -orders that Mary should be given no solid food for at least ten days. He -knew that Dr. Bennett’s word counted more than his. This in spite of the -fact that Dr. Bennett had done nothing but the ordinary measuring-out of -pills and panaceas which he had been taught almost half a century ago in -a third or fourth-rate Southern medical school. Dr. Bennett knew -medicine no later than that of the early eighties. But Dr. Bennett was a -white man—he a Negro!</p> -<p>As he laboured, he suffered again the agony of those hours he had -spent on the floor in his reception room earlier that night. It brought -to life again his bitterness. His skin was black! Therefore, though he -had studied in the best medical school in America, though he had been an -interne for one whole year in the city hospital at New York, though he -had had army experience, though he had spent some time in study in the -best university in France, and, save in pre-war Germany, the best -medical school in Europe, his word and his medical knowledge and skill -were inferior to that of an ignorant, lazy country doctor <span -id="Page_289" class="pagenum">[289]</span> in Georgia! When, oh, when, -he thought, will Americans get sense enough to know that the colour of a -man’s skin has nothing whatever to do with that man’s ability or -brain?</p> -<p>A fleeting, devilish temptation assailed him. He tried to put it from -him. He succeeded for a time. And then back it came, leering -loathsomely, grinning in impudent, demoniac fashion at him! Here, lying -helpless before him, was a representative of that race which had done -irreparable, irremedial harm to him and his. Why not let her serve as a -vicarious sacrifice for that race? It wouldn’t be murder! He did not -need to do anything other than hold back the simple things needed to -save her life. No one would ever know. He’d tell the Ewings that they -had killed their own daughter by giving food she should not have had. -Old Bennett didn’t know enough to detect that he, Kenneth Harper, a -Negro, a “damned nigger,” had failed to do the things he could have -done.</p> -<p>The thought charmed him. He toyed with it in his mind. He examined it -from every possible angle. Yes, by God! He’d do it! It’d serve the -Ewings right! The punishment would be just what they deserved! It would -be a double one. They’d lose their daughter. And they’d be eaten up with -remorse the rest of their days because by disobeying his orders in -giving food to Mary Ewing they themselves, her parents, had killed her! -Murderers!</p> -<p>That’s what they’d be! Like all the rest of their stinking brood!</p> -<p>He pictured the scene in which he’d play the lead<span id="Page_290" -class="pagenum">[290]</span>ing rôle on the following day. The -pleasurable tingle this thought brought him caused a hard smile to come -to his lips. Mary’d be lying downstairs in the parlour in her coffin. -Roy Ewing and his damned, snivelling wife would be howling and crying -and mourning upstairs. He, Kenneth Harper, a Negro, a “damned nigger,” -would be standing triumphantly over them, castigating and flaying their -very souls with his biting words of denunciation! Tongue in cheek, he’d -rage! He’d tell them they were fools, villains, murderers, -child-killers!</p> -<p>The words he’d use sprang to his mind. “You murdered Mary -yourselves!” he’d say. “Didn’t I tell you not to give her any food for -ten days?” he’d demand. And then they’d shiveringly admit that he had -told them those very words. “But, no,” he’d go on, “you wouldn’t listen -to a ‘damned nigger’s’ word! Old Bennett, who doesn’t know as much about -medicine as a horse-doctor—probably less—he’s got a white skin! And -mine’s black! Therefore—” his sarcasm would be great right there as he -bowed in mock humility—“<i>therefore</i> you listened to him instead of -me! And, doing so”—here another low bow—“you killed your own daughter!” -Here his voice would rise in violent denunciation: “You’re murderers! -Yes, that’s what you are! You’re murderers! <i>You’ve murdered your own -daughter! And I’m glad of it! I wish every one of you and your dirty -breed lay in the coffin with her! You, who think you’re God’s own pet -little race! You, who think that all the wisdom in the world is</i> -<span id="Page_291" class="pagenum">[291]</span> <i>wrapped in your -dirty little carcasses! And all the virtue! And all the brains! -Everything! Everything! EVERYTHING!”</i></p> -<p>Oh, yes, he’d finish with infinite scorn: <i>“And you’ve got nothing! -Nothing! NOTHING! Nothing but lies and deceit and conceit and filthy, -empty pride!”</i></p> -<p>Lord, but he’d be magnificent! Booth and Tree and Barrymore and all -the rest of the actors they called great, rolled into one, couldn’t -equal his scorn, his raising and lowering of voice, his tremendous -climax! And then he’d walk magnificently from the room, leaving them -huddled there like whipped curs!</p> -<p>His maniacal exultation swept him on and on. He had stopped -ministering to the sick girl on the bed before him. He leaned back with -a terrible leer on his face as he watched the half-unconscious form -before him struggling in her pain. The strain of the horrible day which -had started out so radiantly and optimistically had been too much for -him. He gloried in the kindly fate that had delivered so opportunely -into his hands one who should serve as a vicarious victim for those who -had struck him mortal blows without cause. He felt that Bob, whatever he -was, was smiling even now in approval of his actions. …</p> -<p>The minutes sped by. Half past twelve! One o’clock! Half past one! -Mrs. Ewing sat anxiously by the bed, not daring to speak. She had -misinterpreted Kenneth’s smile. It had frightened her a little. It’s -because he’d been through so much to-<span id="Page_292" -class="pagenum">[292]</span>day, she thought. I’ll turn down the light -so it won’t be too great a glare. She did. It never occurred to her that -Kenneth’s smile could mean anything other than that he was gaining -ground in his fight for her little girl’s life. …</p> -<p>Outside, the fifteen waited. … Minutes, hours passed. It grew cold. -The strain was getting irksome. They watched the room where shone only a -faint light now. They pictured what was going on in that room. It made -their blood boil and grow cold alternately. Two o’clock! They began to -grumble. “Le’s go in an’ get the damn nigger and roast him alive!” some -demanded. “We can’t do that!” the fat man declared. “The damned bitch’ll -yell and wake up the neighbours! She, a <i>white</i> woman, with her -nigger lover! Can’t let it get out she consented! We’ll get him outside -an’ say he was unsuccessful in th’attempt!”… With that they had to be -satisfied. They grumbled, but they knew he was right. Can’t let the -niggers know a white woman willingly went to bed with a nigger! … That’d -never do! Must preserve the reputation of white women! …</p> -<p>Kenneth still sat by Mary’s bed. His eyelids felt heavy. It was hard -to keep them open. Revenge began to lose its savour. Wasn’t so sweet as -it had seemed. What’s the use, he thought, of telling what he had -planned to the Ewings? They wouldn’t understand. They’d never seen great -actors on the stage. All they’d seen was mushy movie actors and silly -women. Like casting pearls before swine! <span id="Page_293" -class="pagenum">[293]</span> They’d never appreciate the wonder of his -acting! No, not acting. Irony. Sarcasm. Vials of wrath. Beakers of -gall.</p> -<p>Why does the air seem so heavy? Can’t keep eyes open. Feel like -bathing in chloroform.</p> -<p>Kenneth awakened suddenly from his stupor. Mary was coughing -horribly—gasping—strangling. Her mother cried out sharply. Kenneth -rapidly regained his senses. God! That had been an awful dream. -Feverishly he worked. He called to his aid every artifice known to him. -Valiantly, eagerly, desperately he toiled. Mary had been almost gone. -After what seemed hours, she began to recover the ground she had lost -while Kenneth gloated over his fancied revenge. My God! Just think I was -about to let her die! May the Lord forgive me! …</p> -<p>At last she passed the danger point. She sank into a deep slumber. -She was safe!</p> -<p>Kenneth, wearied beyond measure, rose and stupidly, weariedly, made -preparations to go home.</p> -<p>Mrs. Ewing stopped him.</p> -<p>“You haven’t asked me to tell you why Mr. Ewing went to Atlanta,” she -said.</p> -<p>Dully he asked why he had gone away with his daughter in such a -critical condition, what she had meant by her cryptic remarks over the -telephone. She spoke gladly.</p> -<p>“I couldn’t tell you over the telephone,” she explained. “If anyone -had been listening, it would have been bad for all of us. He went to -Atlanta this morning—it’s yestiddy morning, now—to do <span -id="Page_294" class="pagenum">[294]</span> two things. First, to warn -you not to come back to Central City until things has blown over, -because he’d heard threats against you. And most of all to see the -Gov’nor!”</p> -<p>“See the Governor for what?” Kenneth asked.</p> -<p>“Why, to get him to do somethin’ to protect you!” she cried as though -amazed at his ignorance in not seeing.</p> -<p>“Protect me?” Kenneth echoed with a rising, questioning -inflection.</p> -<p>“Yes, to protect you. Y’ see, he knew She’ff Parker couldn’t be -depended on ’cause he’s in with this gang ’round here. He knew the only -chance was through the Guy’nor.”</p> -<p>“But why should <i>I</i> need protection now?” Kenneth asked -wonderingly. “Good God, haven’t these devils done enough to my family -and me already?”</p> -<p>She explained patiently as though talking to a child. Neither of them -realized the unusualness of their situation. Both had forgotten race -lines, time, circumstances, and everything else in the tenseness of the -moment.</p> -<p><i>“B’cause the Ku Kluxers are after you!”</i> she whispered.</p> -<p>“Why should they be after me? I’ve done nothing! My Lord, I’ve tried -in every way I could since I’ve been back in this rotten place to keep -away from trouble⸺” he declared querulously.</p> -<p>“Wait a minute an’ I’ll tell you!” she interrupted him. She took his -arm and led him into the next room where they would not disturb Mary. -“Roy <span id="Page_295" class="pagenum">[295]</span> heard them talking -about you and cursin’ you out about some kind of a society you’ve been -formin’ among the nig—the coloured people. He told ‘em they oughter let -coloured men like you alone ’cause you were a credit to the community. -<i>The nex’ mornin’ he foun’ a warnin’ on the front po’ch from the -Kluxers, sayin’ he’d better stop defendin’ niggers or somethin’d happ’n -to him!”</i></p> -<p>“Oh, that’s all tommyrot, Mrs. Ewing!” Kenneth declared in a -disgusted and disdainful tone. “These silly night-riders wouldn’t dare -do anything to your husband! I don’t believe they’d even try and do -anything to me!”</p> -<p>“You mustn’t talk that way!” she sharply broke in. “They’d do -<i>anythin’!</i> Roy says She’ff Parker’s one of ‘em, and a whole lot -mo’ of the folks you wouldn’ believe was in it!”</p> -<p>Kenneth’s voice became hard and bitter.</p> -<p>“Mrs. Ewing, I’ve tried—God knows I have—to keep away from trouble -with these white people in Central City. If they bother me, I’m going to -fight—you hear me I’m going to fight—and fight like hell! They’ll get me -in the end—I know that—but before I go I’m going to take a few along -with me!”</p> -<p>He left her standing there and went back into Mary’s room. He secured -his bag and started down the stairs. Mrs. Ewing ran after him and caught -him just as he opened the front door. She had to seize his arm to hold -him, as he was impatient to be gone. He felt as though he never wanted -to see a <span id="Page_296" class="pagenum">[296]</span> white face -again as long as he lived. He did not know, nor did Mrs. Ewing, that -several white faces were looking at them as he stood there with Mrs. -Ewing clinging to his arm.</p> -<p>“You will be ca’ful until Roy comes back, won’t you, Doctor?” she -pleaded.</p> -<p>Promising her impatiently, without even comprehending what he -promised, he ran down the steps, eager to get home.</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<span id="Page_297" class="pagenum">[297]</span> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXIII -</h2> -<p><span class="firstcharacter">K</span><span -class="smallcaps">enneth</span> did not see the dark forms that crouched -like tigers in the shrubbery on either side of the long walk that led to -the gate. But as he reached the ground, he turned just in time to see a -shadowy body hurl itself upon him. Instinctively his right arm shot -outwards and upwards. His clenched fist met flush on the point of the -jaw the man who had attempted to hurl him to the ground. His would-be -assailant gave a deep grunt and fell to the ground at Kenneth’s -feet.</p> -<p>Before he hit the ground, however, Kenneth found himself surrounded -by a cursing, howling crowd. He lashed out blindly—hitting wherever he -saw what seemed to be a form. Madly, desperately, gloriously he fought! -For a time he was more than a match for the fifteen that assailed him. -He did not know that they had expected to take him by surprise. The -surprise was now theirs. He heard a voice shout at him in rage: -“Sleepin’ with a white woman, eh! You dirty black bastard!” With -superhuman strength born of hatred, bitterness, and despair, he lunged -at the speaker. Almost at the same time that his fist landed in the -man’s face, his foot went into his stomach with a vengeance. He put into -the blow and <span id="Page_298" class="pagenum">[298]</span> the kick -all the repressed hatred and passion the day’s revelations had brought -forth.</p> -<p>It seemed to him he had been fighting there for hours, days, months! -The odds fifteen to one against him—his strength was as of the fifteen -combined. No Marquis of Queensberry rules here! He knew it was a fight -to the death, and he yelled aloud for sheer joy of the combat! In the -darkness his assailants could not lay hands on him, for he was here, -there, everywhere—hitting, kicking, whirling, ducking blows, jumping -this way and that—a veritable dervish of the deserts in his gyrations! -One after another his opponents went down at his feet! Windows began to -be raised at the tumult. Shouts and cries of inquiry filled the air. But -still Kenneth fought on.</p> -<p>At last he saw an opening. Out went his fist! Down went the man who -met it with his face! Shaking off one who sought to grasp him from -behind, Kenneth stepped over the body of the one who had just gone down -before him, and, like an expert half-back running in a broken field, -darted out to the sidewalk. Fifty—forty—thirty—twenty—ten—five more -yards and he’d be in his car and away! At last, he reached it! -Feverishly he wrenched open the door! He started to spring in! They’d -never get him now!</p> -<p>A shot rang out! Another! Another! Kenneth’s arm flew up. With a low -moan he sank to the street beneath the car. He tried to rise. He -couldn’t. <span id="Page_299" class="pagenum">[299]</span> The bullet -had shattered his leg! On they came, howling, gloating fiendishly—their -rage increased by the mess they’d made of what was intended should be an -easy job! Kenneth saw them come! He groaned and tried to draw the gun -from his hip pocket. It hung in his clothing, pinned down as he was! If -I only can get one or two of them, he thought, before they get me! On -they came! The gun stuck! They had him! They pulled him out from beneath -the car! …</p> -<p>The next morning, in a house in the coloured section of Central City, -there sat a girl. … Her eyes were dry. … Her face was that of despair. … -Her grief was too deep for tears. … In her lap there lay a soft, white, -lustrous, fluffy mass. … It looked like cream charmeuse … looked like a -wedding-gown. … A woman entered the room. … Her eyes were haggard. … -Around her shoulders an apron. … She’d put it on, thinking it a shawl. -…</p> -<p>“Honey! Honey!” she cried. “Mamie was sleeping … so I ran over a -minute.”… She put her arms around the younger woman tenderly. … The dam -broke. … The relief of tears came. … Hot, blinding, scalding tears -rained down on the soft mass that now would never be used. … And the -women cried together. …</p> -<p>In the newspapers of the country there appeared the same day an -Associated Press dispatch. It was <span id="Page_300" -class="pagenum">[300]</span> sent out by Nat Phelps, editor of the -Central City <i>Dispatch</i> and local agent for the Associated Press. -It read:</p> -<div class="article"> -<div class="headline"> -ANOTHER NEGRO LYNCHED IN GEORGIA -</div> -<p>CENTRAL CITY, Ga., Sept. 15.—“Doc” Harper, a negro, was lynched here -to-night, charged with attempted criminal assault on a white woman, the -wife of a prominent citizen of this city. The husband was away from the -city on business at the time, his wife and young daughter, who is -seriously ill, being alone in the house. Harper evidently became -frightened before accomplishing his purpose and was caught as he ran -from the house. He is said to have confessed before being put to death -by a mob which numbered five thousand. He was burned at the stake.</p> -<p>This is the second lynching in Central City this week. On Thursday -morning Bob Harper, a brother of the Negro lynched to-day, was killed by -a posse after he had run amuck and killed two young white men. No reason -could be found for their murder at the hands of the Negro, as they had -always borne excellent reputations in the community. It is thought the -Negro had become temporarily insane.</p> -<p>In a telegram to the Governor to-day, Sheriff Parker reported that -all was quiet in the city and he anticipated no further trouble.</p> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRE IN THE FLINT ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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