There was a great commotion in that part of town which was known as
"Little Africa," and the cause of it was not far to seek. Contrary to
the usual thing, this cause was not an excursion down the river, nor a
revival, baptising, nor an Emancipation Day celebration. None of these
was it that had aroused the denizens of "Little Africa," and kept them
talking across the street from window to window, from door to door,
through alley gates, over backyard fences, where they stood loud-mouthed
and arms akimboed among laden clothes lines. No, the cause of it all was
that Erastus Smith, Aunt Mandy Smith's boy, who had gone away from home
several years before, and who, rumour said, had become a great man, was
coming back, and "Little Africa," from Douglass Street to Cat Alley, was
prepared to be dazzled. So few of those who had been born within the
mile radius which was "Little Africa" went out into the great world and
came into contact with the larger humanity that when one did he became
a man set apart. And when, besides, he went into a great city and worked
for a lawyer whose name was known the country over, the place of his
birth had all the more reason to feel proud of her son.
So there was much talk across the dirty little streets, and Aunt Mandy's
small house found itself all of a sudden a very popular resort. The old
women held Erastus up as an example to their sons. The old men told what
they might have done had they had his chance. The young men cursed him,
and the young girls giggled and waited.
It was about an hour before the time of the arrival of Erastus, and the
neighbours had thinned out one by one with a delicacy rather surprising
in them, in order that the old lady might be alone with her boy for the
first few minutes. Only one remained to help put the finishing touches
to the two little rooms which Mrs. Smith called home, and to the
preparations for the great dinner. The old woman wiped her eyes as she
said to her companion, "Hit do seem a speshul blessin', Lizy, dat I been
spaihed to see dat chile once mo' in de flesh. He sholy was mighty nigh
to my hea't, an' w'en he went erway, I thought it 'ud kill me. But I kin
see now dat hit uz all fu' de bes'. Think o' 'Rastus comin' home, er big
man! Who'd evah 'specked dat?"
"Law, Mis' Smif, you sholy is got reason to be mighty thankful. Des'
look how many young men dere is in dis town what ain't nevah been no
'count to dey pa'ents, ner anybody else."
"Well, it's onexpected, Lizy, an' hit's 'spected. 'Rastus allus wuz a
wonnerful chil', an' de way he tuk to work an' study kin' o' promised
something f'om de commencement, an' I 'lowed mebbe he tu'n out a
preachah."
"Tush! yo' kin thank yo' stahs he didn't tu'n out no preachah. Preachahs
ain't no bettah den anybody else dese days. Dey des go roun' tellin' dey
lies an' eatin' de whiders an' orphins out o' house an' home."
"Well, mebbe hit's bes' he didn' tu'n out dat way. But f'om de way he
used to stan' on de chaih an' 'zort w'en he was a little boy, I thought
hit was des what he 'ud tu'n out. O' co'se, being' in a law office is
des as pervidin', but somehow hit do seem mo' worl'y."
"Didn't I tell you de preachahs is ez worldly ez anybody else?"
"Yes, yes, dat's right, but den 'Rastus, he had de eddication, fo' he
had gone thoo de Third Readah."
Just then the gate creaked, and a little brown-faced girl, with large,
mild eyes, pushed open the door and came shyly in.
"Hyeah's some flowahs, Mis' Smif," she said. "I thought mebbe you might
like to decorate 'Rastus's room," and she wiped the confusion from her
face with her apron.
"La, chil', thankee. Dese is mighty pu'tty posies." These were the
laurels which Sally Martin had brought to lay at the feet of her
home-coming hero. No one in Cat Alley but that queer, quiet little girl
would have thought of decorating anybody's room with flowers, but she
had peculiar notions.
In the old days, when they were children, and before Erastus had gone
away to become great, they had gone up and down together along the
byways of their locality, and had loved as children love. Later, when
Erastus began keeping company, it was upon Sally that he bestowed his
affections. No one, not even her mother, knew how she had waited for him
all these years that he had been gone, few in reality, but so long and
so many to her.
And now he was coming home. She scorched something in the ironing that
day because tears of joy were blinding her eyes. Her thoughts were busy
with the meeting that was to be. She had a brand new dress for the
occasion--a lawn, with dark blue dots, and a blue sash--and there was a
new hat, wonderful with the flowers of summer, and for both of them she
had spent her hard-earned savings, because she wished to be radiant in
the eyes of the man who loved her.
Of course, Erastus had not written her; but he must have been busy, and
writing was hard work. She knew that herself, and realised it all the
more as she penned the loving little scrawls which at first she used to
send him. Now they would not have to do any writing any more; they could
say what they wanted to each other. He was coming home at last, and she
had waited long.
They paint angels with shining faces and halos, but for real radiance
one should have looked into the dark eyes of Sally as she sped home
after her contribution to her lover's reception.
When the last one of the neighbours had gone Aunt Mandy sat down to rest
herself and to await the great event. She had not sat there long before
the gate creaked. She arose and hastened to the window. A young man was
coming down the path. Was that 'Rastus? Could that be her 'Rastus, that
gorgeous creature with the shiny shoes and the nobby suit and the
carelessly-swung cane? But he was knocking at her door, and she opened
it and took him into her arms.
"Why, howdy, honey, howdy; hit do beat all to see you agin, a great big,
grown-up man. You're lookin' des' lak one o' de big folks up in town."
Erastus submitted to her endearments with a somewhat condescending
grace, as who should say, "Well, poor old fool, let her go on this time;
she doesn't know any better." He smiled superiorly when the old woman
wept glad tears, as mothers have a way of doing over returned sons,
however great fools these sons may be. She set him down to the dinner
which she had prepared for him, and with loving patience drew from his
pompous and reluctant lips some of the story of his doings and some
little word about the places he had seen.
"Oh, yes," he said, crossing his legs, "as soon as Mr. Carrington saw
that I was pretty bright, he took me right up and gave me a good job,
and I have been working for him right straight along for seven years
now. Of course, it don't do to let white folks know all you're thinking;
but I have kept my ears and my eyes right open, and I guess I know just
about as much about law as he does himself. When I save up a little
more I'm going to put on the finishing touches and hang out my shingle."
"Don't you nevah think no mo' 'bout bein' a preachah, 'Rastus?" his
mother asked.
"Haw, haw! Preachah? Well, I guess not; no preaching in mine; there's
nothing in it. In law you always have a chance to get into politics and
be the president of your ward club or something like that, and from that
on it's an easy matter to go on up. You can trust me to know the wires."
And so the tenor of his boastful talk ran on, his mother a little bit
awed and not altogether satisfied with the new 'Rastus that had returned
to her.
He did not stay in long that evening, although his mother told him some
of the neighbours were going to drop in. He said he wanted to go about
and see something of the town. He paused just long enough to glance at
the flowers in his room, and to his mother's remark, "Sally Ma'tin brung
dem in," he returned answer, "Who on earth is Sally Martin?"
"Why, 'Rastus," exclaimed his mother, "does yo' 'tend lak yo' don't
'member little Sally Ma'tin yo' used to go wid almos' f'om de time you
was babies? W'y, I'm s'prised at you."
"She has slipped my mind," said the young man.
For a long while the neighbours who had come and Aunt Mandy sat up to
wait for Erastus, but he did not come in until the last one was gone. In
fact, he did not get in until nearly four o'clock in the morning,
looking a little weak, but at least in the best of spirits, and he
vouchsafed to his waiting mother the remark that "the little old town
wasn't so bad, after all."
Aunt Mandy preferred the request that she had had in mind for some time,
that he would go to church the next day, and he consented, because his
trunk had come.
It was a glorious Sunday morning, and the old lady was very proud in
her stiff gingham dress as she saw her son come into the room arrayed in
his long coat, shiny hat, and shinier shoes. Well, if it was true that
he was changed, he was still her 'Rastus, and a great comfort to her.
There was no vanity about the old woman, but she paused before the glass
a longer time than usual, settling her bonnet strings, for she must look
right, she told herself, to walk to church with that elegant son of
hers. When he was all ready, with cane in hand, and she was pausing with
the key in the door, he said, "Just walk on, mother, I'll catch you in a
minute or two." She went on and left him.
He did not catch her that morning on her way to church, and it was a
sore disappointment, but it was somewhat compensated for when she saw
him stalking into the chapel in all his glory, and every head in the
house turned to behold him.
There was one other woman in "Little Africa" that morning who stopped
for a longer time than usual before her looking-glass and who had never
found her bonnet strings quite so refractory before. In spite of the
vexation of flowers that wouldn't settle and ribbons that wouldn't tie,
a very glad face looked back at Sally Martin from her little mirror. She
was going to see 'Rastus, 'Rastus of the old days in which they used to
walk hand in hand. He had told her when he went away that some day he
would come back and marry her. Her heart fluttered hotly under her
dotted lawn, and it took another application of the chamois to take the
perspiration from her face. People had laughed at her, but that morning
she would be vindicated. He would walk home with her before the whole
church. Already she saw him bowing before her, hat in hand, and heard
the set phrase, "May I have the pleasure of your company home?" and she
saw herself sailing away upon his arm.
She was very happy as she sat in church that morning, as happy as Mrs.
Smith herself, and as proud when she saw the object of her affections
swinging up the aisle to the collection table, and from the ring she
knew that it could not be less than a half dollar that he put in.
There was a special note of praise in her voice as she joined in singing
the doxology that morning, and her heart kept quivering and fluttering
like a frightened bird as the people gathered in groups, chattering and
shaking hands, and he drew nearer to her. Now they were almost together;
in a moment their eyes would meet. Her breath came quickly; he had
looked at her, surely he must have seen her. His mother was just behind
him, and he did not speak. Maybe she had changed, maybe he had forgotten
her. An unaccustomed boldness took possession of her, and she determined
that she would not be overlooked. She pressed forward. She saw his
mother take his arm and heard her whisper, "Dere's Sally Ma'tin" this
time, and she knew that he looked at her. He bowed as if to a stranger,
and was past her the next minute. When she saw him again he was swinging
out of the door between two admiring lines of church-goers who separated
on the pavement. There was a brazen yellow girl on his arm.
She felt weak and sick as she hid behind the crowd as well as she could,
and for that morning she thanked God that she was small.
Aunt Mandy trudged home alone, and when the street was cleared and the
sexton was about to lock up, the girl slipped out of the church and down
to her own little house. In the friendly shelter of her room she took
off her gay attire and laid it away, and then sat down at the window and
looked dully out. For her, the light of day had gone out.
_Sixteen_