THOSE DARKIES AGAIN
After Obadiah, highly indignant at the presence of the black orphans,
had departed, his car moved slowly up the street. It stopped at the
corner for the policeman's signal. At the edge of the sidewalk stood a
newsboy eating an ice cream cone with great enjoyment. The shouts of
the pickaninnies were stilled at the pleasing spectacle of a fellow
man partaking of food. Every eye watched the disappearing cone as if
fascinated by some novel mechanical process.
The unusual silence aroused Virginia from uneasy thoughts of her father.
Following the eyes of her guests she caught the common target as the
last bite disappeared, and noted that the lips of the black company moved
sympathetically coincident with its departure.
"These children will be late for lunch?" worried the young hostess,
awakening to the requirements of the hour.
"Yas'm," the woman confessed with indifference. "It ain' no
mattah." From outward appearances the infants took issue upon the
question, deeming it one of grave concern. "Dey eats at noon but ah
fix 'em up er snack w'en we git back." The orphans registered relief.
"How would they like an ice cream cone?" suggested Virginia.
The infants awaited the verdict in breathless anticipation.
"Ah guesses dey lak it mighty well." The woman looked about her at the
upturned mouths even as in a nest of fledgeling blackbirds. The financial
extravagance daunted her. "Yo'all mought git one fo' each two."
Sore disappointment depressed the fledgelings.
Virginia sensed the prevalent dejection. "No," she decided, "each
child shall have one. Go on to Vivian's, Ike."
Now, Mr. Vivian maintained an establishment for the distribution of those
mild refreshments appealing to youth. His fastidious soul endeavored
to foster the delicate things of life. He dealt in sugars and syrups
in preference to lard or kerosene. This spirit prevailed in his public
parlors. Golden rays reflected in dazzling brilliancy in many mirrors
from gilded grills. It was meet that in such a temple only the elect
should partake of ambrosia. This thought exuded from every pore of Mr.
Vivian. At times he spoke of it.
The world accepts a man at his own value. So, South Ridgefield appraised
Mr. Vivian's resort at his own valuation; but by no means does this
mean that his clientele was limited. Far from it. The youth of South
Ridgefield were not modest in their self-esteem. In spite of individual
embarrassment, when first brought under the influence of the Vivian
presence and decorations, they gathered daily in great numbers in the
Vivian parlors, that the world might bear witness, through their
presence, to their elevated social status.
Indeed, certain hardy and desperate spirits did, by continued presence
and notable consumption of wares, become so bold that they dared to
address the proprietor as "Bill," and risked mild pleasantries as
that the nectar was "rotten dope," or that, through error, a "dash
er onion or sumpin'" had been introduced into their sacchariferous
cup. Such familiarity was for the few. Did not eye witnesses support
tradition in evidence of the casting forth of the unworthy from the
Vivian portals?
Had not reputable bibbers testified that certain dirty faced urchins,
essaying early adventures in trade and tendering but five coppers instead
of the eight, well known to be the post war value of the cone, been
driven into the street with loud objurgation?
Likewise, there was the memorable episode of the drunken tramp. Stumbling
into this resort of innocent youth under the belief that it was a
saloon, he was summarily ejected by the police. For a time, a splintered
mirror gave silent testimony to this banishment. It evidenced the casting
of a root beer mug at the white coated soda dispenser by the vulgar
varlet, obsessed by the delusion that he was enjoying the more thrilling
sport of heaving a beer stein at a bartender.
But by far the greater number of refusals of service, with its corollary
of altercation and throwings out, had to do with negroes.
"I ain't serving 'em in my place," Mr. Vivian had proclaimed, with a
frank disregard of at least the spirit of the fifteenth amendment.
The sweets dispensed by Mr. Vivian drew the black people as molasses
does the fly, and South Ridgefield had a large percentage of negro
residents. For a time hardly a day passed without noisy wrangles.
Comfortably seated in full view and hearing of such disputes, the
elect were greatly edified thereby. Of late, such disturbances had
decreased, and, as they had ended always in favor of the confectioner,
he felt assured that he had settled the race issue in his own place at
least.
Mr. Vivian waited today behind his marble topped counter and supervised
his numerous assistants. Through the front windows he watched the
multitude which had assembled to view the minstrel parade disperse. He
observed an influx of gilded youth over his threshold. One listening
to explanations would have gathered that the unusual number present was
not due to interest in such low concerns as minstrel bands. Through
untoward events the pageant had obtruded itself, as it were, into
blase vision.
Mr. Vivian's eyes, as has been suggested, rested upon the street.
Into his optical angle rolled the Dale car. It was well known to the
confectioner. Often it paused for long periods before his place while
Virginia refreshed herself within. It was his delight, at these times,
to greet the maiden with profound respect, as his heart swelled with
pride. The car of Obadiah Dale, the wealthiest, and in consequence, in
Mr. Vivian's judgment, the peak of the town's social strata, awaited
without. Within the house of Vivian, the heiress partook of Vivian
products. What could be more appropriate?
The spectacle of the big machine given up to the conveyance of this small
maiden had always pleased Mr. Vivian. There was a cavalier disregard of
the cost of gasoline, oil, and tires which appealed to him. Today, the
large passenger list astonished him, and, even as the number impressed
him, their aspect amazed him.
"Negroes," he gasped, "coming _here_!" There are moments in every
life which have far-reaching consequences. The confectioner faced one.
The car stopped at the Vivian door. The glad shouts of infants penetrated
the halls set apart for the fashionable. They offended the ears of the
elect.
"There is Virginia Dale and those colored kids with whom she was making
a spectacle of herself in the minstrel parade," sneered an excited girl.
"If she brings them in here, I'll leave and never come back."
"Oh, don't worry," a man of the world, of sixteen, calmed her. "Old
Viv won't stand for any foolishness. You watch him."
"Virginia Dale has lived so long in that big house with only colored
people that she likes them for friends," declared another girl
contemptuously. "Too good to associate with any of the young people of
this town, she parades around like that. I think it is disgusting
myself and I would tell her so, for very little."
These and similar remarks filled the ears of the perplexed proprietor.
He decided that whatever was done in this instance had better be done,
contrary to his usual practice, beyond the hearing of the elect.
He rushed out to the waiting car. A smile was upon his face but it was
not his usual one of hearty welcome. It spoke of hidden pain and anxiety.
"How do you do, Mr. Vivian," Virginia courteously greeted the dispenser
of toothsome delicacies. "I want you to meet these little people from
the Lincoln Home."
He cast a glance into the nest of the blackbirds. It lacked that interest
with which new friends should be greeted. He felt the curious glances
of the chosen, impinging against his back.
"They are hungry, Mr. Vivian. We have had a long ride and the children
missed their lunch watching the parade. Each of us wants the nicest ice
cream cone you can make. Seventeen, please."
"Cones!" Light dawned in Mr. Vivian's darkness.
"Bring them out, please?" Virginia begged.
"Out?" The clouds which had veiled the true Mr. Vivian rolled aside.
Came sunshine and gladsome welcome.
In a moment the confectioner was behind his counter urging his assistants
to diligence. In joyous relief, he shouted, "Make 'em big, boys. Make
'em big!"
Then, disregarding the feelings of the staring elect, Mr. Vivian hastened
forth, bearing a box of cones. In a moment, with his kindest smile,
encouraged by Virginia, he delivered with his own hand, to each infant,
one of his products.
"The poor things. I don't suppose orphans get ice cream cones very
often, do they?" Virginia asked the woman.
"Some ain' nevah had none afo', Ah bets. Has you, chillun? Who had
one?" Six worldly wise infants voted in the affirmative.
Mr. Vivian was stirred deeply by this information. That human beings were
permitted to arrive at such an age without experience of cones struck
him as an economic mistake. "It's a shame," he cried.
"They eat them as though they were used to them," laughed Virginia.
"Yes," he agreed, as he watched the mouths of the blackbirds wag in
solemn unison. Another thought struck him. "You have had these orphans
out for a ride all morning, Miss Dale?"
She nodded. "We've had a grand time, too. Haven't we, children?"
Mouths were too full for utterance but there was a unanimous bobbing of
heads.
When Virginia opened her purse to pay for the cones, Mr. Vivian, after
inspecting the tendered currency for a moment, submitted a proposal.
"Miss Dale, would you object if I presented the cones to the children?
I would be glad to do it."
There was a look of understanding in Virginia's eyes as she answered
him, "I know how you feel about it. I can't let you do it today,
though, Mr. Vivian. You see, it is my treat."
Motionless as a statue, Mr. Vivian stood before the door of his
establishment and watched the machine depart. As it disappeared a
look of great approval rested upon his countenance. "There goes a darn
fine girl," he muttered. He threw back his fat shoulders and worked
them as though a great load had been recently removed from them.
"Thank heaven," he cried, "she didn't take it into her head to
unload that outfit in my place." He scratched his head. "What
would I have done?"