"Ah'll tell you," said Will boastingly. "Goin' to de Union Depot, to see
what we kin pick up."
"Mother, will you let yo' boys rob cars?"
"Shut up, won't you?" Ed injected savagely.
Stella looked helpless. "You boys'll be careful, won't you? Yo' pappy
got caught.... Babe's too little."
"You know that that 'Banjo' Strickland is a regular criminal, ma--even
his brother Tom says so."
Stella closed her mouth. "Dey kin look after dey-selves, Ah reckon.
Dey's growed up."
To belong to a family of day-laborers and common thieves! In passionate
rebellion she told herself that it was more than she could bear.
For several days she studied the poison labels in the Judson medicine
chest. If she only knew which would be painless....
She picked her dark way, a few nights later, over the rough planking
across the nearest ramp--the excavating had begun, which meant better
pay for the boys, and a mountain full of white and negro workers. The
chill breathing of the Autumn wind drove her limp calico skirts
swirling around her body. As she entered the darker tree-shadows beyond,
she stopped suddenly, a chiller fear shaking her. A dark figure stood
squarely in front, a figure that made no motion of stepping out of her
way.
"Where you goin', nigger?"
He was one of the men she had seen working, a slouching young fellow--a
white man.
"Home," she said, in a roughened voice.
She endeavored to brush past on the lower side of the pathway; the sheer
cut of the hill obstructed the upper.
He put out a friendly hand, catching her arm in rude assertiveness. "Not
so fast. You're the Cole gal, ain't you?"
"I'm Diana Cole. I'm going home."
Her tone trailed off weakly, as he stepped closer. She could see his
face now, uncertain eyes squinting directly at her.
"Hey, good-looker," he dropped to an ingratiating whisper, with a leer
to increase the effectiveness of his words. "What you say--wanter show
me a bit of good time? What you say?"