The Forged Note Part 44

It was then that Sidney began to see everybody's chin, apart from every other, the moment he met a person. When he had come back again among his own, after eleven years, his observation began to reveal chins, which according to the argument related, were, to say the least, discouraging.

Almost two-thirds of his people possessed the disappearing chin. A bad sign, he was positive, but they had it, and he now studied this race to which he belonged, very carefully, and from an every day and practical point of view. He did not attempt a scientific study, for, in the first place, he knew little of science, and in the second place, to understand life from a practical point of view, and to apply one's thoughts and efforts to that end, seemed to him a more profitable occupation. In this research, he met many of his people who had gone through college, knew everything from the dark ages to Caesar, but many of them couldn't have bounded the state which they called home, for they paid little attention to their surroundings. As he became better acquainted with them, he was disappointed upon finding them ignorant. At the same time, they had little appreciation for another's viewpoint, unless he had _been to school and graduated from college_.

Having digressed, we will attempt to return to the story.

The druggist was not an a.s.suming person, and admitted, very gracefully, to the fact that he possessed neither will nor determination; but, as Sidney Wyeth knew his people, he did not expect many to be so frank.

So, it came about that when he met Miss Palmer, almost the first thing he took notice of when she came out of the darkness to the porch, was that she possessed a chin, the point of which was far beyond the lips.

It was that fact more than any other, that caused him to try in every way possible, to secure her services. As we have stated, he had little confidence in chinless persons, a fact, which was so much in evidence among his people.

So, when he had known Miss Palmer a few weeks, and had been convinced, from a practical point of view, that she did possess will in keeping with the set of her chin, he confided the fact to her. She smiled very modestly, and, of course, deplored it; but, nevertheless, he caught her studying the reflection of it more than once, when a mirror was convenient.

That Miss Palmer was determined, vigorous, possessed courage and had strength of her convictions, was a positive fact. When she made up her mind to do a thing, if she failed, it was because it was beyond the range of reasonable effort to accomplish it. And it was shortly after this, that Wyeth discovered that such a fortune could be superabundant.

That is, a person could be endowed with so many of these helpful qualities that it pa.s.sed beyond the range of judgment to a.s.sert them.

This happened to be what he discovered in Miss Palmer. He regretted it too, because he had begun to admire her.

The presence of these aggressive facts, began later to result in a change in their regard for each other. They disagreed in their point of view, and, still later, they came to a crash, literally.

For Miss Palmer was, in addition to the agreeable and admirable things he had discovered, pretentious to an alarming degree. And it was this, which caused the trouble.

Our pen has not before had occasion to relate that the change in the life of Sidney Wyeth, from the prairies to the present, was due, in a great measure, to the evil genius of an overly busy person. And yet, such was the fact. Therefore, being an observing character, and realizing these qualities, but not appreciating them in the creature whom he would always despise, he did, above all else, wish to avoid a person thus richly endowed. He had declared many a time, that he trusted the diamond back rattlers that infested the prairies, more than he did an unduly pretentious, ostentatious person.

Therefore, when he came to notice these qualities in Miss Palmer, it led to frequent disagreements. And yet, withal, no one could altogether dislike Miss Palmer. There came a time when he felt, that if she did not try to argue on everything that came up, without first attempting to equip herself with a few facts bearing on the subject, and which would serve to substantiate her argument, he could have overlooked much of her pretense. But, as he came to know her better, she argued on everything, and sought to force her conclusions upon the other, when her knowledge was quite foreign to the question on hand. She literally murdered facts.

And, as time went on, he saw that her aim was, very often, merely to dominate, with no apparent regard for what might be learned by careful listening.

In Effingham, as in every other town, Wyeth had discovered, among his people, a set who claimed to be the more elite; they were the more intelligent, and called themselves society. On his pilgrimage, he had never sought to become a part of this society.

In Effingham, Sidney came to see this phase a little clearer than before, due to his acquaintance with Miss Palmer--that is, that side of it, the woman's side. As for the men, he met that at the drug store, where he had relieved the druggist of two dollars, and where the more elite gathered and indulged. Arguments were usually in process there, he soon saw; and when not so engaged, they gambled and drank to an alarming degree, in the back room, and secluded, where he was not invited. Cards were the custom; but soon c.r.a.ps, he heard, became more conspicuous. The druggist was "a" shooter, and won quite frequently, so 'twas said.

Miss Palmer took pride--as well she might--in informing Wyeth of the fact that she was a member of the colored society of Effingham, and proved it by entertaining until she was ever bankrupt; she was always up against it for money; and this fact, no doubt, brought her to selling books, as a means to make ends meet during vacation. But Miss Palmer did not, could not, of course, be expected to admit such a thing. She could have said nothing about it, which would have been as dignified; but she made it a point to appraise Wyeth of the fact, that she only did it to help him, at which times she would smile, and show her little teeth. "I like you so much," and she would smile again, "that it is my great and ardent desire to help you."

Sidney had never appreciated it in this way.

At Miss Palmer's could often be found a gathering of teachers, of which Effingham, with its sixty thousand black people, had many. And these, to whom the ma.s.ses looked to for tutor, he studied very carefully. He had, as before stated, never shown them the book; but the surprise of it was, that Miss Palmer had not done so either.

In one of the little suburbs, where they had canva.s.sed, he recalled a row of very attractive homes occupied by the more respectable colored people. Miss Palmer had canva.s.sed there very carefully, and had sold the book to nearly every one, but she had as carefully avoided showing it to a professor, who occupied the most imposing of the row. He had not said anything, but, of course, he could scarcely help noticing this careful avoidance of all houses where teachers lived. In some manner, the matter came up one day, and Miss Palmer merely remarked that the teachers were all broke, would be so, until school opened again.

Sidney had surpressed his criticism. But one day he called on Miss Palmer. He was just in time to meet a white woman coming out. The latter turned and thanked Miss Palmer for her kindness in giving her the list of thirty teachers, with the suggestion that they would be interested in the set of books for which she was agent. The lady had sold to twenty-five of that number, not counting Miss Palmer, who had cheerfully started the list. And the books were in twenty volumes, at one dollar each.

Of course, Miss Palmer showed them to her friend with much ado, stating that the same would be so helpful to her in her school work. He said it was very nice; but he wondered just what particular help the books could be to these teachers, for the set were a collected list of fiction, with no care as to whether it was a work of specific interest. The set included many volumes, by authors who issued a book every sixty days, all of which were on sale at any bookseller, or by mail at that time, and for some time past, at fifty cents a volume, or twenty copies from the publishers at forty-five cents each.

Of course, Miss Palmer did not know this, or any of the other twenty-five teachers out of the thirty who had purchased--and lest we forget, it was this lack of knowledge that had cost the druggist two dollars, because he had been shown a work by one of his race, with a suggestion to buy. The fact uppermost in the mind of Sidney was, that the teachers with few exceptions, scarcely needed any such work to teach black children. Many of them would be unlikely to read as many as half a dozen of the books in their lifetime. And yet, by borrowing the book, they were reading _The Tempest_. Some were even contemptible in their criticism; but all of them borrowed it and read it, including Miss Palmer; and she admitted it was the only book she had read that season, other than what she was compelled to read by the board of education.

But all of these people felt they were sacrificing everything for their race, and would deplore it, were they told that such was not true.

But the teachers were nice; much more interesting to talk to than the common herd. They could, almost all, smile beautifully; and they could p.r.o.nounce their English more correctly, employing their "r's," and interspersing their discourse with a clever toss of the head or twinkle of the eye; and when one of the race, who had been successful, married, he invariably picked a teacher. They were sensible enough to realize that a husband who could keep the wolf from the door, was a treasure to be appreciated. It was thus Sidney Wyeth found teachers. But he could not understand why they seldom appreciated Negro literature to the point of purchasing, since they were engaged in the teaching.

Miss Palmer was buying a small home in one of the suburbs, and which was all she could boast of owning. As we know her, she secured her living by teaching nine months in the year, at forty dollars a month. And as we now know, she must perforce earn something during vacation, which was the real reason for selling Wyeth's book. So, from what we know of her, there is no reason why she should not have been conspicuous in colored society, since the ma.s.ses, unfortunately, are all poor. Hence, wealth cannot be the dividing line, else there would be no society whatever.

Miss Palmer showed more ostentation as their acquaintance lengthened.

Sidney was now thirty; and since nineteen, he had lived on the western ranges. And, as is usually the case, western people are great readers.

But here, his people did not read. Not that they could not do so, but because it was apparently not a preference; considering the fact that few seemed to care for much reading beyond a newspaper sensation. And, as he met the more elite, he was surprised that they paid so little attention to the condition of the ma.s.ses. Murder, as we have seen, was an established habit. Of all those he had met, the teachers impressed Wyeth as having the least regard for conditions. In other words, "they never worried." They dressed the best their means would afford, and aped the rest, which was easy. And this he found so prevalent, that he was, at times, dreadfully bored by it all. But he was relieved when he looked deeper, to find that the people who were actually succeeding in doing something, paid little attention to this set, which dominated society.

But the set claimed them, nevertheless.

As he had known society from reading of it only, he had judged that literature was one of its chief features--but not so with this. Gossip and hearsay were more in keeping, and obviously more appreciated.

Wyeth was a literary man now for the sake of gaining a livelihood; but he had studied it, as we know, from a modern point of view. He had never, however, any difference of opinion with them, for so few knew of the late books, purchased few, and most of them not any magazines of interest. Not one in a dozen even read the race's only periodical, _The Climax_: though the editor had once been one of them, and had written a book, a novel. It was a failure, from a financial point of view.

The fiction they knew and talked of was in the order of Rip Van Winkle, Ben Hur and St. Elmo.

One day, when arguments were abundant, it came to a point where Wyeth made mention of the fact that so few teachers showed any interest in current events; did not read the magazines, and Negro literature they almost held in contempt.

"Is it because they feel that no Negro knows enough to write anything they would care to read?"

"The idea," cried Miss Palmer, indignant. "All the teachers take the magazines, and as for Negro literature, it has been the teachers who have robbed themselves to make the same possible."

"And yet other than 'Up From Bondage' and the works of the dead poet, you can seldom find a volume by a Negro author in any of their houses.... And, if I have investigated correctly, ninety per cent of this was placed there, after the white people had bought it and proclaimed the authors great. In the many houses I have been in with you, I have not yet seen any of Derwin's. Though one of them he wrote, and which is named after our souls, had a great sale among the white people even."

"I cannot see, nor appreciate either, your point of view with regard to the teachers' lack of literary interest, when not two weeks ago, twenty-six teachers among a list of thirty, purchased a set of twenty volumes each, and which cost them all that many dollars."

"And every volume by an author few know of, further than that he was white, and, therefore, knew something," he retorted.

It ended there and they were both relieved that it did; but neither forgot it.

Effingham, with its sixty thousand black people, had scores of drug stores which sold literature. Many newsstands also did such a business exclusively. There were four drug stores operated by colored people, and, like Attalia, not one sold magazines and newspapers as a side line; nor did any sell literature, which were operated by whites that depended upon Negro trade. Granting, of course, that many colored people bought such at white places, when they desired to read, it may reasonably be imagined how much literature was in demand among the colored people.

Wyeth usually purchased a work of fiction weekly, and sometimes more; while some weeks, of course, he omitted this custom. One day, he was asked by the clerk of the leading book store in Effingham, what he did with so many books when he had read them. "We have sold," he said, "seven copies of the book you sold us; but I guess you'll be surprised to know that we have not, as yet, sold one to a Negro." Wyeth was not surprised, but didn't say so. "That ad we placed in the colored paper, and have had standing a month, would bring dozens of curious white people in to see what it was. And, of course, some would purchase it to see what was said. Then, if the contents did not thrill or please, indifference would follow. But when n.o.body buys, not even inquires, we can only feel that your people don't have much interest in books, and we have had the same experience before." He smiled when he had finished, a smile that was embarra.s.sed. He disliked to say it, apparently, but when Wyeth was so pleasant, he added: "We have bought what few books your race has written, for the purpose of sale, and have naturally expected some evidence of interest from them, by a call and an occasional purchase. And I am telling you the truth, if we depended on them to unload this stuff from our shelves, it would be there yet, as some of it is. You have personally bought more literature, in the way of current books, since you came in here, than all the rest of your people in this town together."

Wyeth went his way then, but he was no longer surprised, as he once was, for he had heard that many times before.

One day shortly after, Wyeth happened in at the druggist's place, the hot bed of argument. He inquired why a few magazines were not carried in stock.

"h.e.l.l!" cried that one, throwing his hands up in a gesture of despair and mingled disgust, "n.i.g.g.a's don't read."

The following Sunday morning, when the drug store was full, he happened to mention a new book he had, and which many of the idlers were inspecting, one by one, asking to borrow it when he was through. He suggested that it was on sale uptown, then quoted the words of the clerk, who had remarked that he, Wyeth, bought more books than did the rest of the colored people put together.

He was hooted down, so there was no argument. Each was positive that his friend had bought one; while that friend was likewise of the same opinion. And of the many, almost every one had read the book he wrote, having borrowed it from someone who had bought it. The druggist then offered an excuse for the absence of literature at his store, by declaring that almost all the people subscribed, and the same came through mail.

Miss Palmer and he were certainly very forgetful.

Literature was a dead issue, that could not be denied; but whiskey was not.

Effingham had no library for its black people, and they were not allowed the privilege of the white. Yet a part of their tax was paid to support the same. Still, no one gave that much thought, insofar as Wyeth could ascertain. When he mentioned it to the teachers, almost without exception they replied: "No use. Negroes don't read." And it was so everywhere. Yet every cla.s.s but the doctors and teachers purchased _The Tempest_, when it was brought to their attention, and Wyeth even sold to three of these (two doctors and one teacher) in Effingham that summer.

No, no one he met had any worry about a library; but thousands of black children ran wild day by day upon their streets, went to jail in great numbers before they were of age, and filled convict camps as members of chain gangs long before they could be called even young men. There was no library, nor was there a park; but there were plenty of other places conducive to crime. And still Effingham had more than a hundred Negro churches.

"Can you not realize, that in your absence of such necessities for the training of these little black children, that you are growing children for the chain gang every day?" But this never aroused any visible concern. And sometimes they did say, emphatically: