CHAPTER XVIThefollowing 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 thepompous 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 thatneighbourhood. 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 comeback 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 ofthe 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 tobe 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 hermother. 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. …
Thefollowing 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 thepompous 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 thatneighbourhood. 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 comeback 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 ofthe 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 tobe 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 hermother. 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. …