Robert was inspecting the rose bushes with his mother late the next day
when Mammy Chloe appeared at the door.
“The telegram company want Mistah Cap’n Robe’t Hamilton at de phone.”
“All right, just a minute.”
“Dat’s what I tell ’em.”
Hamilton was very white, a nervous smile about the corners of his
mouth. Mrs. Hamilton gave his arm a little pat:
“Everything will be all right.”
Robert was conscious of her watching him as he hurried up the walk and
into the doorway. He could see the patterns of the stone blocks and the
lines made by the moss. The branch of an oak tree hung over him and he
heard birds chirping in the rustling foliage. Life seemed to pause, to
hang between the ticking of a watch. He heard insects humming.
The operator was reading the message, mechanically, by syllables, so
that they barely made sense. But he understood. The operation had been
successful! He ran out of the house excitedly, waving his arms and
sputtering. His mother understood. They both talked excitedly for a
moment without listening to each other.
“I knew it would be all right. I knew it would be all right,” Mrs.
Hamilton was repeating over and over again.
“Let’s have some one over here tonight,” said Robert excitedly. “Didn’t
we use to know some one named McCall?”
“McCall?”
“Or something like that? I must call up Margaret.”
“You don’t mean the McFallons?”
“Yes, I haven’t seen them since I came back. Don’t they come here any
more?”
Mrs. Hamilton looked down.
“No, Robert,” she said quietly.
“But I thought you used to be such good friends.”
He ran into the house to telephone Margaret. He had an impulse to run
about the city spreading the news, when he recalled that no one knew
who McCall was or had the least interest in him.
“I’m going to have some fellows over tonight,” he sang out to his
mother. “Is it all right?”
“I’ll be only too glad.”
“I think I’ll call up Jack Perry. He’s back now and Tom McBride, I
haven’t seen them in an age. And, of course, Howard Pinkney isn’t such
a bad scout.”
“Yes, Howard is a fine chap.”
“You--you haven’t anything against the others have you--Jack and Tom?”
Hamilton had perceived something in her praise of Howard that might
have been interpreted as a criticism of them.
“No, not against them.” Mrs. Hamilton was silent for a moment. She
stooped down to pluck off a dry leaf, then rose and brushed back a wisp
of loose hair. “But I thought you were going to join the Tribe.”
“Yes, Tuesday night.”
“Well, don’t you know that they’re Catholics?”
“Who, the Perrys and the McBrides?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t thought about it at all, but what if they are? McCall is a
Catholic, too.”
“Well, you know, dear, that Catholics can’t belong to the Trick Track
Tribe.”
“Well, what of it? I can’t belong to the Knights of Columbus. But I
think Mr. Perry and Jack both belong. Yes, I remember they do. That
never kept them from inviting us. No, that’s impossible. Why some of
our most prominent men here are Catholics. Half, say a third anyway, of
the Corinth Club are Catholics. What’s belonging to a lodge got to do
with it anyway?”
“Well, you may call them, dear, if you wish. Certainly I have no
objections. Personally I should be glad to have both Mrs. Perry and
Mrs. McBride over. But--well, you call them.”
Hamilton frowned. As he kept growing older he kept bumping into
stronger and more surprising prejudices. At three he had learned of the
existence of that line between the whites and the blacks. At seven he
learned the sharp distinction between the rich and the poor. Next it
had been Jew and Gentile. For a few years he had almost forgotten about
these social barriers. Now came the most surprising one of all, the
most difficult to understand.
Jack Perry and Tom McBride were both at home--it was nearly six--and
expressed their delight at the invitation. The Perrys were out of the
city, but Tom would ask his parents to come.
“I told you they’d come,” said Robert to his mother. “It’s almost time
for dinner. They’re coming a little after eight.”
Mrs. Hamilton looked surprised.
“I don’t know where you could have gotten such an idea, mother. Why,
how is it possible?” He tried to tell her what was in his mind. The
war. The country united to win. The allied soldiers of many different
nations and races and religions. And the armistice only signed a few
months ago. But, of course, she knew all that.
Mr. Hamilton had been called out of town on business and they ate
alone. There was joy in Robert’s heart. McCall would be able to see.
He must write him immediately and send Dorothy the poem. The telephone
bell ringing, broke into his thoughts. It was Tom. His parents had
made another engagement for the evening of which he had known nothing
and like a dutiful son he would be obliged to accompany them. Tomorrow
night he would also be engaged. But he’d see him some other time.
Robert was turning away when the bell rang again. It was Jack Perry.
He had phoned before but the line was busy. He had suddenly remembered
that he had an engagement with someone. With whom? Why, with Tom
McBride.
“Why, what’s the matter with you, Jack?” asked Robert.
“Nothing,” said Jack. “I simply forgot for the moment. By the way, I
understand that you’ve joined the Trick Track Tribe.”
“No, not yet.” Was Jack trying to pump him? He remembered suddenly that
joining the Tribe was supposed to be a secret. Jack’s voice became hard
over the phone, hard and formally polite.
“Mr. McBride and I are going to attend the Knights of Columbus, a
little business meeting. Tell Pinkney and Griffith and the Rev. Mr.
Lister that. A Knights of Columbus meeting. Goodbye.”
“But listen, old man--”
It was too late. Perry had rung off. He returned to the table
crestfallen and repeated his conversation to his mother.
“The Knights of Columbus!” she said. “You see they were right!”
“Who were right?”
“Howard and Mr. Griffith. They were over here almost six months ago,
just before dad joined the Tribe. They were arguing about the power of
the Knights of Columbus. It was hard to believe all they said, but they
brought proofs of their activities.”
“What activities? I don’t believe it. Why, at camp, I used to be in the
K. C. hut as much as the Y. M. C. A. And now they’re starting schools
for the ex-service men.”
“It’s an organization to control politics in the United States for the
benefit of the Catholic church.”
Robert laughed.
“Mother, do you really believe that? Who’s the governor of our state?
He’s a Protestant. Who’s the mayor of our city? Another Protestant. Who
are our aldermen? Mostly Protestants--a few Catholics.”
“Ask Dad about the Catholic problem when he comes back, or Howard,”
suggested Mrs. Hamilton. “Really, Robert, I don’t know much about it,
except from what I’ve heard at the discussions. Of course, there are
secrets that dad cannot tell me. But I know that since he joined the
Tribe we haven’t associated with any Catholics. Some very fine people,
too. Some of my best friends.”
She sighed and looked thoughtfully down at the tablecloth.
“Dad wouldn’t go over to the Perrys after he joined and he always
managed to stay away when they came here. I have nothing against them.
But you know how it is.”
“Is it that way all over Corinth?” asked Robert. “I haven’t noticed.
Yes, I have. There haven’t been any Catholics at most of the functions.
And there did seem to be some dissention at the club. There’s no sense
to it. It’s got to stop. Why should a fellow risk his life in Europe
fighting for democracy and come home to find his own town torn up by
the most undemocratic barriers in the world--religion.
“We’re forming an organization--that is the veterans of the war--a
democratic organization where every one is on the same footing as
every one else. Even rank means nothing there. The private has the
same rights and privileges as the general. Race, social position,
religion--all these distinctions have been swept away. The American
Legion is for all who have been in the service. Why, it doesn’t even
matter whether they enlisted or were drafted! That’s real Americanism.
But Pinkney keeps talking about the Tribe’s campaign for Americanism.
There must be some mistake somewhere. If the Knights of Columbus are
going into politics and stirring up religious prejudice, it’s got to
stop. I don’t know exactly what Pinkney means by white supremacy, aside
from the supremacy it naturally has, and I don’t see the necessity of
a society standing for pure womanhood--why that’s part of every man’s
religion, of every social and moral law in the world!--but I do know
what Americanism means. I can see that it’s needed here and I’m going
into the Tribe because I believe a powerful organization like that can
help spread it!”