THE following day Kenneth was kept busy arranging his affairs in
order to leave the following morning for Atlanta for the operation
on Mrs. Tucker. It had been a most difficult task for him to
persuade her to have it done. He had been at last successful when he
made her realize that it would mean either the operation or death.
She dreaded the trip to Atlanta but Kenneth refused to perform the
operation except at a hospital and there was none nearer than
Atlanta at which a Negro could operate.
During the day he had been kept so busy that he had not had time to
go out of the coloured section except once, and that when in the
late afternoon he drove through Lee Street to see how Mary Ewing was
faring. He had been so busy with his own thoughts that he had paid
little attention to the whites who were standing around on the
streets. He did not see the threatening and hostile looks they gave
nor did he notice the excited whispering and muttering when he came
into their sight.
Ed Stewart had partly told the truth at the meeting of the Klan when
he said that Dr. Williams had informed him of the organization
Kenneth and the others were forming. Kenneth had seen little of the
pompous and intensely jealous physician since the time when he had
forced Dr. Williams to assist him in the appendicitis operation on
Mrs. Emma Bradley. Kenneth had felt nothing but an amused contempt
for his fellow-practitioner, for he knew that Dr. Williams covered
his deficiencies in medical knowledge and skill with the bombastic
and self-important air he affected.
Dr. Williams, on the other hand, had never forgiven Kenneth for the
incident in which Kenneth had shown him up in a manner that injured
the former's pride far more than Kenneth had suspected. Dr. Williams
felt that the younger man had deliberately and with malice
aforethought offered a gratuitous insult to him as dean of the
coloured medical profession of Central City, though that profession
numbered but two members. Kenneth's success as a physician in
Central City, having taken as he had some of the best of
Dr. Williams' own patients whom he had considered peculiarly his
own, the insult plus Kenneth's success had rankled in his breast
until, being of a petty and mean disposition, he hated the younger
man with a deep and vindictive hatred.
He had not, however, intended that his conversation with Ed Stewart
should assume the proportions that it eventually did. On the day
before the meeting of the Klan at which Kenneth had been named as
the one responsible for the organization of the Negroes,
Dr. Williams had met Ed Stewart driving out along a country road
near Ashland. Williams was returning from making a professional call
in that neighbourhood. Stewart, a big, raw-boned, and lanky
"Cracker" or "Peck," as they are called by Negroes in the South, was
going to inspect the cotton crops of his tenant-farmers, that he
might estimate how big the crops would be and might know accordingly
how large the tenants' bills should be for supplies furnished.
They had stopped to pass the time of day and for Stewart to find
which of the Negroes on his place was sick. He wanted to know if
that sick one was too sick to work the crop, as the loss of even one
worker during cotton-picking time was serious, what with the number
of Negroes who had gone North. Having gained the information, he
started to question Dr. Williams in a way that he thought was
exceedingly adroit and clever, but through which ruse the coloured
doctor saw instantly and clearly.
"Say, Doc, you know anything ‘bout these niggers 'round here holdin'
these meetin's nearly ev'ry night? Seems t' me it's mighty late for
them to be holdin' revival services and indo' camp-meetin's?" he
queried in as casual a tone as he could manage.
An idea sprang full-grown to Williams' mind. Kenneth Harper was
getting far too popular through the organization of his co-operative
societies. Williams was shrewd enough to see that if they were as
successful as they gave promise of being, Kenneth would be the
leading Negro of the town, if not of that entire section of Georgia.
And correspondingly he, Williams, would become less and less the
prominent figure he had been before Kenneth had come back from
France to Central City. That was it! Stewart was one of the biggest
planters in Smith County. It was also rumoured he was prominent in
the Ku Klux Klan. Stewart's fortunes would be the hardest hit in the
county if Kenneth's societies achieved their purpose, for he,
Stewart, had as many share-croppers and tenant-farmers as any other
man in the county if not more. Stewart also had the reputation, a
long-standing one, of being the hardest taskmaster on his Negro
tenants in the county—the one who profited most through juggled
accounts and fraudulent dealings. He could have cut, had he chosen,
five notches in the handle of his gun, each one signifying a Negro
who had dared to dispute the justness of settlements for crops
raised.
All these thoughts raced through Williams' brain while Stewart
waited for a reply to his questions. Williams had no intention of
the exaggeration of his statements which Stewart later made. He
merely intended that by telling Stewart of the societies, Kenneth's
rapidly increasing prominence in the community should receive a
check through obstacles which Stewart and his fellow-landlords might
put—in fact, were sure to put—in the way of success of the farmers'
organizations.
"No, sir, they ain't holdin' revivals, Mr. Stewart. I reckon if you
white folks knew what was goin' on, you wouldn't feel so
comfortable."
Williams was playing with Stewart as is done so often by Negroes in
the South with the whites, though the latter, in their supreme
confidence that they belong to an eternally ordained "superior
race," seldom realize how often and how easily they are taken in by
Negroes. Williams enjoyed the look of concern that had come to
Stewart's face at his words.
"What's goin' on, Doc?" he asked in an eager tone, from which he
tried with but little success to keep the anxiety that he felt.
"Heh, heh, heh!" laughed Williams in a throaty chuckle. "These
Negroes are figurin' on takin' some of these landlords to court
that's been cheatin' them on their crops. Of course," he added
hastily, "that don't need to worry you none, Mr. Stewart, but from
what I hear, there are some 'round here that the news will worry."
Stewart flushed, for he was conscious of a vague feeling that
Williams might have been indirectly hitting at him when he had said
that the court proceedings wouldn't affect him. He fell back on the
old custom of flattering and praising fulsomely the Negro from whom
a white man wants information regarding the activities of other
Negroes. Williams, like every other Negro in the South, knew what
value to put on it, but he was playing a far deeper game than
Stewart suspected.
"Doc, why ain't all these niggers good, sensible ones like you? If
all the niggers in the South were like you, there never would be any
trouble."
"That's right, Mr. Stewart, that's right. As I was sayin' to some of
the folks out your way this mornin', they'd better stop followin'
after the fool ideas of these coloured men who've been up No'th."
He looked at Stewart shrewdly and appraisingly to see if he had
penetrated the subtlety of his remark. Stewart, slow of thought, had
not fully done so, it seemed. Williams continued:
"You see, it's like this, Mr. Stewart. Folks like you and me could
live here for a hundred years and there'd never be no trouble.
There'd never be no race problem if they was only like us. But"—and
his voice took on a doubtful and sorrowful sound—"the most of this
trouble we're havin' is caused by fool Negroes who go up No'th to
school and run around with those coloured folks in New York and
Chicago who tell ‘em how bad we po' coloured folks are bein' treated
in the South. They get all filled up with ‘social equality' ideas,
and then they come back down here and talk that stuff to these
ignorant Negroes and get them all stirred up⸺"
Stewart was seeing more clearly what Williams was driving at.
"I see," he said reflectively. "I alw'ys said too much education
sp'iled niggers—that is, some niggers," he added hastily for fear
Williams might take offence before he had done with him. "Co'se it
don't bother sensible ones like you, Doc." The last was said
conciliatingly. "Let's see, mos' this trouble's stahted since that
other doctor's been back, ain't it?" he asked as casually as he
could.
"I ain't sayin' who's doin' it," replied Williams as he started the
engine of his car. "But you're a good guesser, Mr. Stewart," he
threw back over his shoulder as he drove away. …
Stewart clucked to his horse and rode in deep thought down the road.
His mind was busy devising schemes to circumvent the action of the
societies to take into court men like himself who had been robbing
Negroes. They'd lose in the local courts, he knew, but suppose they
raised enough money to take a case to the United States Supreme
Court. No, that would never do! He'd see Parker and talk it over
with him right away! He put the whip to his horse and drove rapidly
into town. Mustn't let the damn niggers organize, that would be
hell! …
Kenneth was going about his business on the day following the
meeting of the Klan that had been caused by Dr. Williams' talk with
Stewart, in blissful ignorance of the storm rapidly gathering about
his head. His mind was intent on a number of things—but trouble on
account of the co-operative societies was furthest from his mind.
Had he been told there was any trouble, such news would probably
have been greeted with a laugh of unconcern. All the white people of
the South weren't scoundrels and thieves like Stewart and Taylor and
their kind! They were but a few. Besides the poor whites, the
majority of whites would undoubtedly heartily approve his plan when
it had been developed to the point where it could be made public.
But Kenneth thought of none of those things. His mind was too full
of other events that loomed on the horizon. First, of course, he
thought of Jane. He thought of his great good fortune in knowing a
girl like her. There was a girl for you! He thought of the home he
would build for her—he was mighty glad his father had been in fairly
comfortable circumstances and that he had been successful in his
practice. He would be able to build a mighty nice home for Jane.
They wouldn't bother with the cheap and flashy furniture, fumed oak
or mission, to be obtained in Central City. Oh, no! Soon's
Mrs. Phillips was better, the three of them would go to Atlanta and
buy everything they needed there. They'd have the best-looking home
in Central City, white or coloured! His mother and Mamie wanted him
to bring Jane into the house. He might do that … but the house which
had seemed so comfortable before, now seemed too ordinary to bring a
girl like Jane to. … He'd talk that over with her to-night. … And
then after a time there might be a little Jane … and a Kenneth,
Jr. … Kenneth laughed softly to himself as he saw Jane and himself
sitting by the fire of an evening with two little rascals playing on
the floor. … And later they'd go off to school. He'd see that they
got the best there was in life. … So his thoughts ran.
And then he thought of Roy Ewing and the operation of the night
before. Must have been a mighty terrible ordeal for them to have to
call a Negro in to operate on their daughter. Race prejudice is a
funny thing! A white man will eat food prepared by black hands, have
it served by black hands, have his children nursed by a black nurse
who most of the time was more a mother to them than their own
mother, let his clothes be taken into a black home to be washed,
allow all the most intimate details of his life to be handled by
black folks. … Even lots of them would consort with black women at
night to whom they wouldn't raise their hats in the daytime. … But
when it came to recognizing a Negro outside of menial service, then
there came the rub. … Yet in a matter of life and death like Ewing's
case, they forgot prejudice. … Maybe in time the race problem would
be solved just like that … when some great event would wipe away the
artificial lines … as in France. … He thought of the terrible days
and nights in the Argonne. … He remembered the night he had seen a
wounded black soldier and a wounded white Southern one, drink from
the same canteen. … They didn't think about colour in those times. …
Wouldn't the South be a happy place if this vile prejudice didn't
exist? … He wondered why folks didn't see it as clearly as he did. …
At last the long, busy day ended. He went over to have supper with
Jane. That dress she had on the night they had told each other of
their love, that reddish-coloured one, that had been a beauty. But
to-night—ah, the other one wasn't nearly so pretty! It was of white,
simply made. Satin slippers, silk stockings, also of white. Her hair
piled high and pierced with a large tortoise-shell comb. Always she
brought pictures to Kenneth's mind. To-night it was again of the
dark-eyed, seductive Spanish señorita on a balcony. After supper,
they sat in the canvas porch swing. They talked of their
plans—impetuously, enthusiastically—with all the glorious dreams of
youthful love. All the little things—little, but so great when one
is young and in love they said to each other. The things they said
when the Pyramids were being built. The things they will say a
thousand years from now.
To-night there were no warning signals from Mr. Phillips when ten
o'clock came. He had been glad, and had said so, when Kenneth asked
him for Jane. "We don't feel we're losing a daughter—we're gaining a
son instead!" he had said.
They talked on until there was no other sign of life discernible in
the neighbourhood, save for the passage of a prowling cat, or the
sound of the crickets in the grass. At last he had to go. Early the
next morning he was to leave for Atlanta with Mrs. Tucker. Three
days he was to be gone. He would return on Friday.
In October they were to be married. Mrs. Phillips' health was not
improving as they had hoped. She was cheerful but she wanted Jane to
be happily married before she died. They had decided to live at his
house with his mother and Mamie. They'd refurnish it and do over all
the rooms. Later on, when he had made lots of money, they'd build.
Mamie and Jane and Kenneth were to go to Atlanta the latter part of
September, there to buy the furniture and all the other things, they
would need. Mrs. Phillips was too ill to stand the strain of the
long journey and the excitement of the shopping.
Jane tiptoed into the house so as not to wake her mother. She
returned in a few minutes with a fluffy white mass in her arms. It
was her wedding-gown which she was to make herself. They sat silent
for a minute at the token of what it meant.
Tears stood in Jane's eyes when he went down the stairs. He saw them
when he looked back to say the last soft good-bye.
"Three days is an awful long time," she said plaintively.
Of course, there was nothing else for him to do but go back up the
steps and kiss her good-bye all over again. …