BLACK SOCIALISM
Sergeant Somerville and Private Tinsley accepted the invitation to the
count's ball with alacrity. Their company had been mustered out just in
the nick of time for them to obtain indefinite leave. It was rumored
that they were to be taken in again, this time as regulars, but the
certainty of having no military duties to perform for the time being was
very pleasant to our two young men.
The Carter girls had taken the count at his word and invited several
friends from Richmond to stay at Valhalla and attend the ball. Dr.
Wright was eager to come and with the recklessness of physicians who use
their cars for business and not for pleasure, he made the trip in his
automobile. He had a new five-seated car, taking the place of his former
runabout.
"M. D.'s and R. F. D.'s have to travel whether roads are good or bad,"
he had declared.
The two young soldiers and Tillie Wingo had the hardihood to risk their
necks with him, and at the last minute he picked up Skeeter Halsey and
Frank Maury, who had been invited by Lucy so that she and Mag would not
have to be wall flowers. Six persons in a five-passenger car insures
them from much jolting, as there is no room to bounce.
Tillie was in her element with five pairs of masculine ears to chatter
in. She and Bill were still engaged "in a way," as she expressed it,
although neither one of them seemed to regard it very seriously. Tillie
insisted upon making a secret of it as much as she was capable, so that
in Bill's absence she might not be laid on the shelf.
"The fellows don't think much of an engaged girl," she said frankly,
"and I have no idea of taking a back seat yet awhile."
The recklessness of the guests in coming over Virginia roads in an
automobile in the month of February was nothing to the recklessness of
the Carters in inviting six persons to spend the night with them when
they possessed but one small guest chamber.
"We can manage somehow," Helen declared, "and, besides, we will be out
so late dancing there won't be much use in having a place to sleep,
because we won't have any time to sleep."
"Only think of all of those bedrooms at Grantly with nobody in them!"
exclaimed Lucy. "Those old ladies might just as well ask some of us up
there, but they will never think of it, I know."
"If they do, they will disagree about which ones to ask and which rooms
to put them in, and we will never get the invitation," laughed Helen.
"Anyhow, they are dear old ladies and I am mighty fond of them." Helen
often ran up to the great house to ask advice from the Misses Grant
about household affairs and was ever welcome to the lonely old women.
"They are certainly going to the ball, aren't they?" asked Douglas.
"They wouldn't miss it for worlds. They are having a time just now,
though, because Tempy has left them. They can't find out what her reason
is and feel sure she didn't really want to go; now her sister Chloe is
so near she seemed quite content, but for weeks she has been in a
peculiar frame of mind and the last few days they have caught her in
tears again and again. They sent for Dr. Allison, who lives miles and
miles from here, but Miss Ella and Miss Louise will trust no other
doctor. He says as far as he can tell she is not ill. Anyhow, she has
gone home, and today their man-servant departed, also. Of course they
might draw on the field hands for servants, but they hate to do it
because they are so very rough. They have had this man-servant for years
and years, ever since he was a little boy, and they can't account for
his going, either. He had a face as long as a ham when he left them and
gave absolutely no excuse except that his maw was sick, and as Miss Ella
says, 'His mother has been dead for ten years, and she ought to know,
since she furnished the clothes in which she was buried.' Miss Louise
said she had only been dead eight, and they were her clothes, but they
agree that she is dead at least, and can't account for Sam's excuse."
"Poor old ladies, I am sorry for them," said Douglas.
On the day of the ball, there was much furbishing up of finery at
Valhalla. Mr. Carter's dress suit had to be pressed and his seldom used
dress studs unearthed. Mrs. Carter forgot all about being an invalid and
was as busy and happy as possible, trying dresses on her daughters to
see that their underskirts were exactly the right length and even
running tucks in with her own helpless little hands.
"It is a good thing I don't have to think about my own outsides," said
Helen, "as all of my time must be spent in planning for our guests'
insides. I tell you, six more mouths to fill is going to keep Chloe and
me hustling."
"It sho' is an' all them dishes ter wash is goin' ter keep me hustlin'
some mo'," grumbled Chloe. "An' then I gotter go ter the count's an'
stir my stumps."
"I am sorry, but I am going to give you a nice holiday after it is all
over," said her young mistress kindly. The count had asked Helen to
bring Chloe to look after the ladies in the dressing-room.
"I ain't a-mindin' 'bout dishes. I's jes' a-foolin'---- Say, Miss Helen,
what does potatriotic mean?"
"Patriotic? That means loving your country and being willing to give up
things for it and help save it. Everybody should be patriotic."
"But s'posin' yer ain't got no country?"
"Why, Chloe, everybody has a country, either the place where you were
born or the place where you have been living long enough to love and
feel that it is yours."
"But niggers is been livin' here foreveraneveramen, an' still they ain't
ter say got no country."
"Why, you have! Don't you think Uncle Sam would look after you and fight
for you if you needed his help?"
"I ain't got no Uncle Sam, but I hear tell that he wouldn't raise his
han' ter save a nigger, but yit if'n they's a war that he'll 'spec' the
niggers ter go git shot up fer him."
"Why, Chloe! How can you say such a thing?"
"I ain't er sayin' it--I's jes' a-sayin' I hears tell."
"Who told it to you?"
"Nobody ain't tol' it ter me. I jes' hearn it."
"Well, it's not true."
"I hearn, too, that they's plenty er money ter go 'roun' in this
country, but some folks what thinks they's better'n other folks has
hoarded an' hoarded 'til po' folks can't git they han's on a nickel. An'
I hearn that they's gonter be distress an' misery, an' wailin' an'
snatchin' er teeth 'til some strong man arouses an' makes these here
rich folks gib up they tin. Nobody ain't a-gonter know who dat leader
will be, he mought be white an' thin agin he mought be black, but he's
a-gonter be a kinder sabior."
"How is he going to manage?" asked Helen, amused at what sounded like a
sermon the girl might have heard from the rickety pulpit of the brick
church.
"I ain't hearn, but I done gib out ter all these niggers that my white
folks ain't got no tin put away here in this Hogwallow or whatever Miss
Nan done named it. They keeps their money hot a-spendin' it, I tells 'em
all."
Helen laughed, and with a final touch at the supper table and a last
peep at the sally lunn muffins, which were rising as they should, she
started to go help her mother with the dancing frocks and their
petticoats that would show discrepancies.
"Say, Miss Helen, is you sho' Miss Ellanlouise is goin' ternight?" asked
Chloe, following her up the steps.
"Yes, Chloe, I'm sure."
"An', Miss Helen, if'n folks ain't got no country ter love what ought
they do?"
"Why, love one another, I reckon. Love the people of their own race, and
try to help them."
"Oughtn't folks ter love they own color better'n any other?"
"Why, certainly!"
"If'n some of yo' folks got into trouble, what would you do?"
"Why, I'd help them out if I could."
"Even if'n they done wrong?"
"Of course! They would still be my own people."
"If they ain't ter say done it but is a-gonter do it, thin what would
you do?"
"I'd try to stop them."
"Would you tell on 'em?"
"I'd try to stop them first. Who has done wrong or is going to do it,
Chloe?"
"Nobody ain't done wrong an' I ain't a-never said they is. I ain't said
a word. This talk was jes' some foolishness I done made up out'n my
haid. But say, Miss Helen,--I'd kinder like ter stop at Mammy's cabin
over to Paradise befo' I gits ter de count's. I kin take my foot in my
han' an' strike through the woods an' beat the hay wagin thar, it goin'
roun' by the road."
"All right, Chloe!"
Helen rather fancied that Chloe wanted to see her sister, who was
evidently contemplating some imprudence. She had been threatening to
marry James Hanks, but her people had shown themselves very much opposed
to it. Perhaps the girl was on the eve of an elopement which had called
forth all of the above conversation from her sister. Where did she get
all of those strange socialistic ideas? Was Lewis Somerville right and
was the little learning a dangerous thing for these poor colored people?
Surely she had helped Chloe by the little teaching she had given her.
The girl was like another creature. She seemed now to have self-respect,
and Helen felt instinctively that her loyalty to her and her family was
almost a religion with her.