"There is not the slightest doubt, Miss Wynn," Senator Smith was saying,
"but that the schools of the District will be reorganized."
"And the Board of Education abolished?" she added.
"Yes. The power will be delegated to a single white superintendent."
The vertical line in Caroline Wynn's forehead became pronounced.
"Whose work is this, Senator?" she asked.
"Well, there are, of course, various parties back of the change: the
'outs,' the reformers, the whole tendency to concentrate responsibility,
and so on. But, frankly, the deciding factor was the demand of the
South."
"Is there anything in Washington that the South does not already own?"
Senator Smith smiled thinly.
"Not much," drily; "but we own the South."
"And part of the price is putting the colored schools of the District in
the hands of a Southern man and depriving us of all voice in their
control?"
"Precisely, Miss Wynn. But you'd be surprised to know that it was the
Negroes themselves who stirred the South to this demand."
"Not at all; you mean the colored newspapers, I presume."
"The same, with Teerswell's clever articles; then his partner Stillings
worked the 'impudent Negro teacher' argument on Cresswell until
Cresswell was wild to get the South in control of the schools."
"But what do Teerswell and Stillings want?"
"They want Bles Alwyn to make a fool of himself."
"That is a trifle cryptic," Miss Wynn mused. The Senator amplified.
"We are giving the South the Washington schools and killing the
Education Bill in return for this support of some of our measures and
their assent to Alwyn's appointment. You see I speak frankly."
"I can stand it, Senator."
"I believe you can. Well, now, if Alwyn should act unwisely and offend
the South, somebody else stands in line for the appointment."
"As Treasurer?" she asked in surprise.
"Oh, no, they are too shrewd to ask that; it would offend their backers,
or shall I say their tools, the Southerners. No, they ask only to be
Register and Assistant Register of the Treasury. This is an office
colored men have held for years, and it is quite ambitious enough for
them; so Stillings assures Cresswell and his friends."
"I see," Miss Wynn slowly acknowledged. "But how do they hope to make
Mr. Alwyn blunder?"
"Too easily, I fear--unless _you_ are very careful. Alwyn has been
working like a beaver for the National Education Bill. He's been in to
see me several times, as you probably know. His heart is set on it. He
regards its passage as a sort of vindication of his defence of the
party."
"Yes."
"Now, the party has dropped the bill for good, and Alwyn doesn't like
it. If he should attack the party--"
"But he wouldn't," cried Miss Wynn with a start that belied her
conviction.
"Did you know that he is to be invited to make the principal address to
the graduates of the colored high-school?"
"But," she objected. "They have selected Bishop Johnson; I--"
"I know you did," laughed the Senator, "but the Judge got orders from
higher up."
"Shrewd Mr. Teerswell," remarked Miss Wynn, sagely.
"Shrewd Mr. Stillings," the Senator corrected; "but perhaps too shrewd.
Suppose Mr. Alwyn should take this occasion to make a thorough defence
of the party?"
"But--will he?"
"That's where you come in," Senator Smith pointed out, rising, "and the
real reason of this interview. We're depending on you to pull the party
out of an awkward hole," and he shook hands with his caller.
Miss Wynn walked slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue with a smile on her face.
"I did not give him the credit," she declared, repeating it; "I did not
give him the credit. Here I was, playing an alluring game on the side,
and my dear Tom transforms it into a struggle for bread and butter; for
of course, if the Board of Education goes, I lose my place." She lifted
her head and stared along the avenue.
A bitterness dawned in her eyes. The whole street was a living insult to
her. Here she was, an American girl by birth and breeding, a daughter of
citizens who had fought and bled and worked for a dozen generations on
this soil; yet if she stepped into this hotel to rest, even with full
purse, she would be politely refused accommodation. Should she attempt
to go into this picture show she would be denied entrance. She was
thirsty with the walk; but at yonder fountain the clerk would roughly
refuse to serve her. It was lunch time; there was no place within a mile
where she was allowed to eat. The revolt deepened within her. Beyond
these known and definite discriminations lay the unknown and hovering.
In yonder store nothing hindered the clerk from being exceptionally
pert; on yonder street-car the conductor might reserve his politeness
for white folk; this policeman's business was to keep black and brown
people in their places. All this Caroline Wynn thought of, and then
smiled.
This was the thing poor blind Bles was trying to attack by "appeals" for
"justice." Nonsense! Does one "appeal" to the red-eyed beast that
throttles him? No. He composes himself, looks death in the eye, and
speaks softly, on the chance. Whereupon Miss Wynn composed herself,
waved gayly at a passing acquaintance, and matched some ribbons in a
department store. The clerk was new and anxious to sell.
Meantime her brain was busy. She had a hard task before her. Alwyn's
absurd conscience and Quixotic ideas were difficult to cope with. After
his last indiscreet talk she had ventured deftly to remonstrate, and she
well remembered the conversation.
"Wasn't what I said true?" he had asked.
"Perfectly. Is that an excuse for saying it?"
"The facts ought to be known."
"Yes, but ought you to tell them?"
"If not I, who?"
"Some one who is less useful elsewhere, and whom I like less."
"Carrie," he had been intensely earnest. "I want to do the best thing,
but I'm puzzled. I wonder if I'm selling my birthright for six thousand
dollars?"
"In case of doubt, do it."
"But there's the doubt: I may convert; I may open the eyes of the blind;
I may start a crusade for Negro rights."
"Don't believe it; it's useless; we'll never get our rights in this
land."
"You don't believe that!" he had ejaculated, shocked.
Well, she must begin again. As she had hoped, he was waiting for her
when she reached home. She welcomed him cordially, made a little music
for him, and served tea.
"Bles," she said, "the Opposition has been laying a pretty shrewd trap
for you."
"What?" he asked absently.
"They are going to have you chosen as High School commencement orator."
"Me? Stuff!"
"You--and not stuff, but 'Education' will be your natural theme. Indeed,
they have so engineered it that the party chiefs expect from you a
defence of their dropping of the Educational Bill."
"What!"
"Yes, and probably your nomination will come before the speech and
confirmation after."
Bles walked the floor excitedly for a while and then sat down and
smiled.
"It was a shrewd move," he said; "but I think I thank them for it."
"I don't. But still,
_"''T is the sport to see the engineer hoist
by his own petar.'"_
Bles mused and she watched him covertly. Suddenly she leaned over.
"Moreover," she said, "about that same date I'm liable to lose my
position as teacher."
He looked at her quickly, and she explained the coming revolution in
school management.
He did not discuss the matter, and she was equally reticent; but when he
entered the doors of his lodging-place and, gathering his mail, slowly
mounted the stairs, there came the battle of his life.
He knew it and he tried to wage it coolly and with method. He arrayed
the arguments side by side: on this side lay success; the greatest
office ever held by a Negro in America--greater than Douglass or Bruce
or Lynch had held--a landmark, a living example and inspiration. A man
owed the world success; there were plenty who could fail and stumble and
give multiple excuses. Should he be one? He viewed the other side. What
must he pay for success? Aye, face it boldly--what? Mechanically he
searched for his mail and undid the latest number of the _Colored
American_. He was sure the answer stood there in Teerswell's biting
vulgar English. And there it was, with a cartoon: