The Forged Note Part 56

All that day, indignation meetings denouncing the article by Sidney Wyeth, was the order among Effingham's black people. All the week following, it was further denounced. And thus we come to the end of this part of our story.

As for Sidney Wyeth, he left Effingham. He left shortly after writing the article, and went to another city. In that other city, he came back to where he started--that is, something had come back to him which was his dream, when we met him in the beginning of our story.

BOOK III

CHAPTER ONE

"_That Gal's Crooked!_"

When Mildred Latham left the church, she hurried to her room, greatly excited. Without delay, she threw her belongings together as quickly as possible, and without care. When she had them tied and ready for moving, she went out, locking the door behind her, and paused briefly to gaze up and down the street. After a moment, in which she satisfied herself that neither were in sight, she hurried down the street to where she knew a man lived who owned a dray.

"Can you get a trunk and other matter for me at once?" she inquired, subduing her excitement.

"I guess so. Sometime this afternoon. What number, Miss," he replied, regarding her with admiring eyes. She bit her lips in vexation.

"But I would like it moved at once--right away," she said, quelling her excitement as best she could.

"Oh, very well. Didn't know you were in such a hurry." He called to a black boy in the rear, and, after instructions, turned to her and said:

"Fo'kes out, eh! He-he! Where you want it dumped?"

"Oh,----why, yes--oh,--you may just keep it here until I call for it, please." Without further words, she hurried away. Down the street she came to a boy with a push cart, directed him to the address, let him in, saw to the loading of her luggage, and, when this was completed, slipped quietly out behind him. When a few doors away, she paused long enough to gaze longingly in the direction of the number she had just left. And then, after a smothered sob, she caught a car that took her miles to another side of town, and where the houses were recently built near a new extension of the car tracks.

Two hours later, she had succeeded in getting a room from a woman who had a daughter about her age. She would get her meals at a small restaurant nearby, until she could arrange to cook them in her room, or, maybe, she might be allowed to cook them in the kitchen, on the stove of the family. She didn't request that privilege this day, for she was too greatly excited to say more than she had to.

"It's terrible," she moaned silently, when alone in the room she had secured. "I would not have left them like this for anything in the world; but I could never stay there and take the risk. I could never look in their faces again.... But, oh, how I dislike to be away from them! It is almost the only real home I ever knew, and the only ones who ever really loved me--but Sidney.... I must not think of him, I must forget. But can I? That is what has worried me these months. I can never forget how he looked at me that day; that day when he would have spoken....

"And then he came.... That night--but that was the end, the end of my dream. And yet, only yesterday, I don't know why, I couldn't seem to help it; but I had hopes, dear hopes--but today----" She went to sleep after a time, and all the night through, was asleep and awake by turns.

It seemed that morning would never come; and when it did at last, she arose with heavy eyes.

She decided to go for a walk, and not canva.s.s that morning. She was glad now that Constance's work was in another part of the city, and she could at least go about hers without any likelihood of meeting her.

"Did you rest well last night?" inquired the lady of the house, a hard-faced dark woman, whose appearance did not appeal to Mildred the night before, and now she was less impressed than before.

"Oh, very well, thank you," she replied quickly. So much so that the other looked at her keenly, and when Mildred saw her eyes now, she detected an air of suspicion therein. She flinched perceptibly. The other saw this, and was more suspicious still.

"You seem worried, nervous," said the other, with feigned kindness; but even in the tone, could be discerned a mockery.

"I never sleep well when I change rooms and sleep in a new bed," said Mildred, calmly. The other nodded.

"This is my daughter," the other announced, as a tired looking black girl came forward. Mildred accepted the introduction with forced courtesy, and only returned the greeting. The other did likewise, while her mother, appearing to wish to tantalize the feelings of her roomer, said:

"You and she can be partners. You must take her, Myrtle, around to see your friends." She now turned to Mildred and said: "Myrtle has many admirers, so you and she can go out anytime and turn on a 'stunt.'" She smiled a dry hard smile, that almost made Mildred shudder. She made an excuse, and hurried into the street, preferring the outside air to the evil atmosphere she felt within.

"That gal's crooked," said the black woman to her daughter, who had just come in that morning.

"How do you know?" said the other coldly.

"How do I know!" she repeated derisively. "Do you suppose I have been in this town and seen a thousand gals with her sweet face, and not know that she ain' got a white man--maybe two or three--on her string."

"You're crooked--so crooked yourself, Ma, that you see everybody else the same way," said the other, sinking into a chair and closing her eyes.

"I've always tried to make you straight, and you know that," her mother retorted grimly.

"A crooked mother can't raise a straight daughter. It's up to the daughter--and I've failed." A moment later, she was snoring loudly. The other regarded her now, with a pang in her evil heart. It always made her sad to see her only daughter like that. She had fostered hopes, while this one was growing up, that she would be a lady; she had sent her to school with the funds she got in any way she could; but heredity was too strong. They wouldn't have the girl after six months, at the boarding school she attended in Grantville. No, they expelled her with an emphatic letter, that she should not return the following season. She swore when she read the letter from the president, and forthwith sent her to another. The offense was repeated. She sent her then to a catholic convent. But in some way she escaped from this, and when her mother saw her two months later, she was living in adultery.

Mildred renewed her canva.s.s that afternoon, and, under the spell of the work, she was able, after a time, in part, to forget the worry that possessed her. She returned to her room, humming a little song, much to the surprise of herself. She hushed, however, when she approached the house. The face of the black woman seemed more cruel every time she saw it. She wished she had another place. But, since she had moved in, she decided to make the best of it.

All that week she worked away diligently. She worked to forget what had frightened her away from her friends, and her success was great. She placed the book in scores of homes through her concentrated efforts, and when she returned at night, she was invariably so much exhausted, that she retired early, and fell asleep the minute she touched the bed, and awakened each morning, rested and spurred on to a greater effort.

Sunday came again, and, having grown accustomed to attending church, she knew it would be a long day for her without doing so. She inquired of the people regarding a church, and was embarra.s.sed to have the woman remark:

"Oh, you attend church! Well, there's a big Baptist church down the street and across five blocks; while there's a smaller one two blocks up."

"Thank you," said Mildred so sweetly, that the other looked after her with open mouth.

"I can't make that gal out," she said to her daughter, as they sat together at breakfast.

"I'm glad of it," growled the daughter, without looking up.

"She's a puzzle. Sells a book; but I will never bring myself to believe that she doesn't do something else on the side."

"Evil to him who evil thinks," said her daughter, still looking in her plate. "I think I might possibly have been something, Ma, if you hadn't been so evil. Now what right have you trying to trump up something against that girl. Supposing she ain't straight, does that give you any call for all time tryin' t' make her what she ain' showed herself t'

be?" Myrtle was impatient, and her mother had a way of hushing up when she was in this mood.

"She c'n certainly make herself look good," commented the black woman, as Mildred pa.s.sed out, and went down the street in the direction given to the big church.

"Has got some clothes, too," she commented further, as the other remained silent. "She certainly knows how t' have her men. Don't none of'm bother about where she lives; and 'she goes t' church on Sunday.'"

She laughed a low, hard laugh, but did not look in her daughter's direction.

Mildred found the church. It was indeed a large structure. And a large crowd attended it. She sat to one side, where a window was raised, and the soft air floated in above her. As she caught the strains of the mammoth pipe organ, and heard the music from a score or more voices in the choir, she thought of her friends as never before, since she left them. She had told Wilson--who was so good--that some day he'd be the pastor of a big church. A big church like this, where thousands of people attended. Only forty members comprised his congregation; he was delighted, she recalled, when as many as one hundred attended. And she had wanted so much to help Wilson Jacobs and his sister in their great effort. As she recalled how unceremoniously she had left them, and at the very time they needed her more than ever, she experienced a pain that made her turn in the pew.

She heard the pastor now. He was preaching. She settled herself for a long sermon. That was the kind the Baptists preached, she judged. Soon she found herself listening to the words that came from his lips. He told the story of Damon and Pythias. How glorious, she thought! Pythias was a man--and so was Damon. They were strong men--with, what was that, she was thinking of it all the time? Yes, they were strong men with the strength of their convictions. "Amen" came all about her. And still the pastor was preaching. And he was preaching a good sermon. She heard it all, and it concerned men--and the strength of their convictions.

"To be a Christian," she heard him now, "you must be strong. You must be courageous, and willing to sacrifice for your brother, as was Damon for Pythias. There are those who are Christians with all the feeling--on Sunday. Monday, they are like any other sinner. This version of Christianity and religion, is the reason h.e.l.l is getting so many people every day. Sometimes when I think it over, I don't wonder; because, all my life, I have been constrained to observe, that too many people regard Jesus as the individual, and not as the moral. It is the moral of the Christ, his teachings and example, that we are to follow. We do not know him, insofar as the Christian sense is concerned, as an individual. But it is a fact that so many of our preachers wax eloquent, and literally bring down the heavens, and, likewise, great demonstration from the congregation thereby. But, to be a successful pract.i.tioner, one must be strong; he must stand for something; to be a successful farmer, a man must be practical; to be a successful business man, requires application and fort.i.tude; to be a good husband, and the father of a happy family, requires strength--in short, to be anything in this life, requires strength! Therefore, dear friends, fancy, if you can, how a weak man can be a Christian. For, to be a Christian, requires the strength of all things."

She was moved. Oh, it was a relief to listen to a good sermon! And she was glad to hear a Baptist preacher speak so forcibly in such terms. She was not so very well acquainted with this denomination and its pastors; but, from her observation, she had almost concluded that they appealed to the emotion, rather than to strength. She wondered now, as she saw him making gestures in emphasizing his words, whether he had taken any interest in the Y.M.C.A. She decided to find out, if she became an attendant of this church.

When the sermon had closed, she contributed liberally to the table, whereupon she was looked at closely by the man who took collections.

When she had reseated herself, and glanced in the direction of the table, she saw the man pointing her out to the pastor, whose eyes, for a moment, rested upon her in curiosity.