On the evening of April 3d, at fifteen minutes of six o'clock, Mr.
Clayton, accompanied by Jack, entered the livery carriage waiting at his
gate and ordered the coachman to drive to the Union Depot. He had taken
Jack along, partly for company, and partly that Jack might relieve the
Congressman of any trouble about his baggage, and make himself useful in
case of emergency. Jack was willing enough to go, for he had foreseen
in the visitor a rival for Alice's hand,--indeed he had heard more or
less of the subject for several days,--and was glad to make a
reconnaissance before the enemy arrived upon the field of battle. He had
made--at least he had thought so--considerable progress with Alice
during the three weeks since her return from Washington, and once or
twice Alice had been perilously near the tender stage. This visit had
disturbed the situation and threatened to ruin his chances; but he did
not mean to give up without a struggle.
Arrived at the main entrance, Mr. Clayton directed the carriage to wait,
and entered the station with Jack. The Union Depot at Groveland was an
immense oblong structure, covering a dozen parallel tracks and
furnishing terminal passenger facilities for half a dozen railroads. The
tracks ran east and west, and the depot was entered from the south, at
about the middle of the building. On either side of the entrance, the
waiting-rooms, refreshment rooms, baggage and express departments, and
other administrative offices, extended in a row for the entire length of
the building; and beyond them and parallel with them stretched a long
open space, separated from the tracks by an iron fence or _grille_.
There were two entrance gates in the fence, at which tickets must be
shown before access could be had to trains, and two other gates, by
which arriving passengers came out.
Mr. Clayton looked at the blackboard on the wall underneath the station
clock, and observed that the 7.30 train from Washington was five minutes
late. Accompanied by Jack he walked up and down the platform until the
train, with the usual accompaniment of panting steam and clanging bell
and rumbling trucks, pulled into the station, and drew up on the third
or fourth track from the iron railing. Mr. Clayton stationed himself at
the gate nearest the rear end of the train, reasoning that the
Congressman would ride in a parlor car, and would naturally come out by
the gate nearest the point at which he left the train.
"You 'd better go and stand by the other gate, Jack," he said to his
companion, "and stop him if he goes out that way."
The train was well filled and a stream of passengers poured through.
Mr. Clayton scanned the crowd carefully as they approached the gate, and
scrutinized each passenger as he came through, without seeing any one
that met the description of Congressman Brown, as given by Sadler, or
any one that could in his opinion be the gentleman for whom he was
looking. When the last one had passed through he was left to the
conclusion that his expected guest had gone out by the other gate. Mr.
Clayton hastened thither.
"Did n't he come out this way, Jack?" he asked.
"No, sir," replied the young man, "I have n't seen him."
"That 's strange," mused Mr. Clayton, somewhat anxiously. "He would
hardly fail to come without giving us notice. Surely we must have missed
him. We 'd better look around a little. You go that way and I 'll go
this."
Mr. Clayton turned and walked several rods along the platform to the
men's waiting-room, and standing near the door glanced around to see if
he could find the object of his search. The only colored person in the
room was a stout and very black man, wearing a broadcloth suit and a
silk hat, and seated a short distance from the door. On the seat by his
side stood a couple of valises. On one of them, the one nearest him, on
which his arm rested, was written, in white letters, plainly
legible,----
"H.M. Brown, M.C.
Washington, D.C."
Mr. Clayton's feelings at this discovery can better be imagined than
described. He hastily left the waiting-room, before the black gentleman,
who was looking the other way, was even aware of his presence, and,
walking rapidly up and down the platform, communed with himself upon
what course of action the situation demanded. He had invited to his
house, had come down to meet, had made elaborate preparations to
entertain on the following evening, a light-colored man,--a white man by
his theory, an acceptable guest, a possible husband for his daughter, an
avowed suitor for her hand. If the Congressman had turned out to be
brown, even dark brown, with fairly good hair, though he might not have
desired him as a son-in-law, yet he could have welcomed him as a guest.
But even this softening of the blow was denied him, for the man in the
waiting-room was palpably, aggressively black, with pronounced African
features and woolly hair, without apparently a single drop of redeeming
white blood. Could he, in the face of his well-known principles, his
lifelong rule of conduct, take this negro into his home and introduce
him to his friends? Could he subject his wife and daughter to the rude
shock of such a disappointment? It would be bad enough for them to learn
of the ghastly mistake, but to have him in the house would be twisting
the arrow in the wound.
Mr. Clayton had the instincts of a gentleman, and realized the delicacy
of the situation. But to get out of his difficulty without wounding the
feelings of the Congressman required not only diplomacy but dispatch.
Whatever he did must be done promptly; for if he waited many minutes the
Congressman would probably take a carriage and be driven to Mr.
Clayton's residence.
A ray of hope came for a moment to illumine the gloom of the situation.
Perhaps the black man was merely sitting there, and not the owner of the
valise! For there were two valises, one on each side of the supposed
Congressman. For obvious reasons he did not care to make the inquiry
himself, so he looked around for his companion, who came up a moment
later.
"Jack," he exclaimed excitedly, "I 'm afraid we 're in the worst kind of
a hole, unless there 's some mistake! Run down to the men's waiting-room
and you 'll see a man and a valise, and you 'll understand what I mean.
Ask that darkey if he is the Honorable Mr. Brown, Congressman from South
Carolina. If he says yes, come back right away and let me know, without
giving him time to ask any questions, and put your wits to work to help
me out of the scrape."
"I wonder what 's the matter?" said Jack to himself, but did as he was
told. In a moment he came running back.
"Yes, sir," he announced; "he says he 's the man."
"Jack," said Mr. Clayton desperately, "if you want to show your
appreciation of what I 've done for you, you must suggest some way out
of this. I 'd never dare to take that negro to my house, and yet I 'm
obliged to treat him like a gentleman."
Jack's eyes had worn a somewhat reflective look since he had gone to
make the inquiry. Suddenly his face brightened with intelligence, and
then, as a newsboy ran into the station calling his wares, hardened into
determination.
"Clarion, special extry 'dition! All about de epidemic er dipt'eria!"
clamored the newsboy with shrill childish treble, as he made his way
toward the waiting-room. Jack darted after him, and saw the man to whom
he had spoken buy a paper. He ran back to his employer, and dragged him
over toward the ticket-seller's window.
"I have it, sir!" he exclaimed, seizing a telegraph blank and writing
rapidly, and reading aloud as he wrote. "How's this for a way out?"----
"Dear Sir,--I write you this note here in the depot to inform you of an
unfortunate event which has interfered with my plans and those of my
family for your entertainment while in Groveland. Yesterday my daughter
Alice complained of a sore throat, which by this afternoon had developed
into a case of malignant diphtheria. In consequence our house has been
quarantined; and while I have felt myself obliged to come down to the
depot, I do not feel that I ought to expose you to the possibility of
infection, and I therefore send you this by another hand. The bearer
will conduct you to a carriage which I have ordered placed at your
service, and unless you should prefer some other hotel, you will be
driven to the Forest Hill House, where I beg you will consider yourself
my guest during your stay in the city, and make the fullest use of every
convenience it may offer. From present indications I fear no one of our
family will be able to see you, which we shall regret beyond expression,
as we have made elaborate arrangements for your entertainment. I still
hope, however, that you may enjoy your visit, as there are many places
of interest in the city, and many friends will doubtless be glad to make
your acquaintance.
"With assurances of my profound regret, I am
Sincerely yours,
Cicero Clayton."
"Splendid!" cried Mr. Clayton. "You 've helped me out of a horrible
scrape. Now, go and take him to the hotel and see him comfortably
located, and tell them to charge the bill to me."
"I suspect, sir," suggested Jack, "that I 'd better not go up to the
house, and you 'll have to stay in yourself for a day or two, to keep up
appearances. I 'll sleep on the lounge at the store, and we can talk
business over the telephone."
"All right, Jack, we 'll arrange the details later. But for Heaven's
sake get him started, or he 'll be calling a hack to drive up to the
house. I 'll go home on a street car."
"So far so good," sighed Mr. Clayton to himself as he escaped from the
station. "Jack is a deuced clever fellow, and I 'll have to do something
more for him. But the tug-of-war is yet to come. I 've got to bribe a
doctor, shut up the house for a day or two, and have all the ill-humor
of two disappointed women to endure until this negro leaves town. Well,
I 'm sure my wife and Alice will back me up at any cost. No sacrifice is
too great to escape having to entertain him; of course I have no
prejudice against his color,--he can't help that,--but it is the
_principle_ of the thing. If we received him it would be a concession
fatal to all my views and theories. And I am really doing him a
kindness, for I 'm sure that all the world could not make Alice and her
mother treat him with anything but cold politeness. It 'll be a great
mortification to Alice, but I don't see how else I could have got out of
it."
He boarded the first car that left the depot, and soon reached home. The
house was lighted up, and through the lace curtains of the parlor
windows he could see his wife and daughter, elegantly dressed, waiting
to receive their distinguished visitor. He rang the bell impatiently,
and a servant opened the door.
"The gentleman did n't come?" asked the maid.
"No," he said as he hung up his hat. This brought the ladies to the
door.
"He did n't come?" they exclaimed. "What 's the matter?"
"I 'll tell you," he said. "Mary," this to the servant, a white girl,
who stood in open-eyed curiosity, "we shan't need you any more
to-night."
Then he went into the parlor, and, closing the door, told his story.
When he reached the point where he had discovered the color of the
honorable Mr. Brown, Miss Clayton caught her breath, and was on the
verge of collapse.
"That nigger," said Mrs. Clayton indignantly, "can never set foot in
this house. But what did you do with him?"
Mr. Clayton quickly unfolded his plan, and described the disposition he
had made of the Congressman.
"It 's an awful shame," said Mrs. Clayton. "Just think of the trouble
and expense we have gone to! And poor Alice 'll never get over it, for
everybody knows he came to see her and that he 's smitten with her. But
you 've done just right; we never would have been able to hold up our
heads again if we had introduced a black man, even a Congressman, to the
people that are invited here to-morrow night, as a sweetheart of Alice.
Why, she would n't marry him if he was President of the United States
and plated with gold an inch thick. The very idea!"
"Well," said Mr. Clayton, "then we 'we got to act quick. Alice must wrap
up her throat--by the way, Alice, how _is_ your throat?"
"It 's sore," sobbed Alice, who had been in tears almost from her
father's return, "and I don't care if I do have diphtheria and die, no,
I don't!" and she wept on.
"Wrap up your throat and go to bed, and I 'll go over to Doctor
Pillsbury's and get a diphtheria card to nail up on the house. In the
morning, first thing, we 'll have to write notes recalling the
invitations for to-morrow evening, and have them delivered by messenger
boys. We were fools for not finding out all about this man from some one
who knew, before we invited him here. Sadler don't know more than half
he thinks he does, anyway. And we 'll have to do this thing thoroughly,
or our motives will be misconstrued, and people will say we are
prejudiced and all that, when it is only a matter of principle with us."
The programme outlined above was carried out to the letter. The
invitations were recalled, to the great disappointment of the invited
guests. The family physician called several times during the day. Alice
remained in bed, and the maid left without notice, in such a hurry that
she forgot to take her best clothes.
Mr. Clayton himself remained at home. He had a telephone in the house,
and was therefore in easy communication with his office, so that the
business did not suffer materially by reason of his absence from the
store. About ten o'clock in the morning a note came up from the hotel,
expressing Mr. Brown's regrets and sympathy. Toward noon Mr. Clayton
picked up the morning paper, which he had not theretofore had time to
read, and was glancing over it casually, when his eye fell upon a column
headed "A Colored Congressman." He read the article with astonishment
that rapidly turned to chagrin and dismay. It was an interview
describing the Congressman as a tall and shapely man, about thirty-five
years old, with an olive complexion not noticeably darker than many a
white man's, straight hair, and eyes as black as sloes.
"The bearing of this son of South Carolina reveals the polished manners
of the Southern gentleman, and neither from his appearance nor his
conversation would one suspect that the white blood which flows in his
veins in such preponderating measure had ever been crossed by that of a
darker race," wrote the reporter, who had received instructions at the
office that for urgent business considerations the lake shipping
interest wanted Representative Brown treated with marked consideration.
There was more of the article, but the introductory portion left Mr.
Clayton in such a state of bewilderment that the paper fell from his
hand. What was the meaning of it? Had he been mistaken? Obviously so, or
else the reporter was wrong, which was manifestly improbable. When he
had recovered himself somewhat, he picked up the newspaper and began
reading where he had left off.
"Representative Brown traveled to Groveland in company with Bishop Jones
of the African Methodist Jerusalem Church, who is _en route_ to attend
the general conference of his denomination at Detroit next week. The
bishop, who came in while the writer was interviewing Mr. Brown, is a
splendid type of the pure negro. He is said to be a man of great power
among his people, which may easily be believed after one has looked upon
his expressive countenance and heard him discuss the questions which
affect the welfare of his church and his race."
Mr. Clayton stared at the paper. "'The bishop,'" he repeated, "'is a
splendid type of the pure negro.' I must have mistaken the bishop for
the Congressman! But how in the world did Jack get the thing balled up?
I 'll call up the store and demand an explanation of him.
"Jack," he asked, "what kind of a looking man was the fellow you gave
the note to at the depot?"
"He was a very wicked-looking fellow, sir," came back the answer. "He
had a bad eye, looked like a gambler, sir. I am not surprised that you
did n't want to entertain him, even if he was a Congressman."
"What color was he--that 's what I want to know--and what kind of hair
did he have?"
"Why, he was about my complexion, sir, and had straight black hair."
The rules of the telephone company did not permit swearing over the
line. Mr. Clayton broke the rules.
"Was there any one else with him?" he asked when he had relieved his
mind.
"Yes, sir, Bishop Jones of the African Methodist Jerusalem Church was
sitting there with him; they had traveled from Washington together. I
drove the bishop to his stopping-place after I had left Mr. Brown at the
hotel. I did n't suppose you 'd mind."
Mr. Clayton fell into a chair, and indulged in thoughts unutterable.
He folded up the paper and slipped it under the family Bible, where it
was least likely to be soon discovered.
"I 'll hide the paper, anyway," he groaned. "I 'll never hear the last
of this till my dying day, so I may as well have a few hours' respite.
It 's too late to go back, and we 've got to play the farce out. Alice
is really sick with disappointment, and to let her know this now would
only make her worse. Maybe he 'll leave town in a day or two, and then
she 'll be in condition to stand it. Such luck is enough to disgust a
man with trying to do right and live up to his principles."
Time hung a little heavy on Mr. Clayton's hands during the day. His wife
was busy with the housework. He answered several telephone calls about
Alice's health, and called up the store occasionally to ask how the
business was getting on. After lunch he lay down on a sofa and took a
nap, from which he was aroused by the sound of the door-bell. He went to
the door. The evening paper was lying on the porch, and the newsboy, who
had not observed the diphtheria sign until after he had rung, was
hurrying away as fast as his legs would carry him.
Mr. Clayton opened the paper and looked it through to see if there was
any reference to the visiting Congressman. He found what he sought and
more. An article on the local page contained a resume of the information
given in the morning paper, with the following additional paragraph:----
"A reporter, who called at the Forest Hill this morning to interview
Representative Brown, was informed that the Congressman had been invited
to spend the remainder of his time in Groveland as the guest of Mr.
William Watkins, the proprietor of the popular livery establishment on
Main Street. Mr. Brown will remain in the city several days, and a
reception will be tendered him at Mr. Watkins's on Wednesday evening."
"That ends it," sighed Mr. Clayton. "The dove of peace will never again
rest on my roof-tree."
But why dwell longer on the sufferings of Mr. Clayton, or attempt to
describe the feelings or chronicle the remarks of his wife and daughter
when they learned the facts in the case?
As to Representative Brown, he was made welcome in the hospitable home
of Mr. William Watkins. There was a large and brilliant assemblage at
the party on Wednesday evening, at which were displayed the costumes
prepared for the Clayton reception. Mr. Brown took a fancy to Miss Lura
Watkins, to whom, before the week was over, he became engaged to be
married. Meantime poor Alice, the innocent victim of circumstances and
principles, lay sick abed with a supposititious case of malignant
diphtheria, and a real case of acute disappointment and chagrin.
"Oh, Jack!" exclaimed Alice, a few weeks later, on the way home from
evening church in company with the young man, "what a dreadful thing it
all was! And to think of that hateful Lura Watkins marrying the
Congressman!"
The street was shaded by trees at the point where they were passing, and
there was no one in sight. Jack put his arm around her waist, and,
leaning over, kissed her.
"Never mind, dear," he said soothingly, "you still have your 'last
chance' left, and I 'll prove myself a better man than the Congressman."
* * * * *
Occasionally, at social meetings, when the vexed question of the future
of the colored race comes up, as it often does, for discussion, Mr.
Clayton may still be heard to remark sententiously:----
"What the white people of the United States need most, in dealing with
this problem, is a higher conception of the brotherhood of man. For of
one blood God made all the nations of the earth."