CHAPTER ONE

_Effingham_

"I'll take that change now," whispered the porter, nudging Wyeth, as he lay trying to sleep, as the train roared westward toward Effingham, the iron city, and greatest industrial southern center.

Raising up, he reached in his pocket while yet half asleep, and handed the porter two dollars. "I paid fifty cents for the ticket to Spruceville, as you know, and the charge was to be two fifty?" The other nodded, and pocketing the money, he melted away noiselessly.

A few hours later, Wyeth raised the shade and peered out. The train was flying through a valley, that spread away from either side of the single track, smooth and unobstructed, except for comfortable farm homes, set back from the roads. He looked back in the seat behind him, observed young Hatfield, whom he was bringing with him, dozing peacefully. Then he looked toward the front of the car for the first time, and observed another with whom he had become acquainted in Attalia. He had never learned his name, in fact, he had never inquired it; but, since the other possessed such long legs, and was tall and good-natured into the bargain, he had called him Legs, which had brought no objection on the part of the other. And it is by that name we shall follow him in this story.

"Hello, there!" he greeted cordially, when their eyes met. "And where did you get on and call yourself going?"

"Hello, Books!" the other returned, as cordially. He rose from his seat, shook himself as if to start the blood, jumped about for a moment, rubbed his face, and then came back to where Wyeth was and sat down. "Say," he cried, "a little liquah'd go good right now, wouldn't it? I had some, but like a pig I emptied the bottle last night. Oh, yes," he cried suddenly, "I'm going to Chicago. Where are you going?"

"To Effingham; but I wish I were on the way for old Chi' along with you," said Wyeth. The other smiled blandly, stretched his long legs in the isle, then got up, went to the end of the car and looked around for a cup out of which to drink; and, of course, not finding any, he lifted the lid of the cooler, turned it over, and finding it had a disk, drew it full and drank from it. Replacing it, he came back and reseated himself. Since we shall become quite familiar with him, and very shortly, a description is quite necessary.

He was tall, over six feet, and a mulatto. His shoulders were broad, while his chest was thin and flat. His head was small, and straight up from his back, while he possessed a pair of small ears that fitted closely and oddly against his head--so oddly that, when one observed him at a glance, he reminded one of an elf. He appeared to be smiling always, although there was no great depth in the same. His eyes were small, and danced about playfully in his head, while his hips were arched and broad, between which was a full stomach which made him resemble a pickaninny.

"You see, it's like this," he began confidentially. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and held his mouth close to Wyeth's ear. "The reason you did not see me when we left Attalia last night, was because I had the porter lock me in the lavatory. I didn't come through the gate at the station, but went out to the yards where he concealed me. When the train was out of the town, I came out; but you were reading and didn't look up, when I came out and took that seat."

Wyeth observed him now wonderingly. He could not understand this unconventional manner of boarding a passenger train. He was not, however, left long in doubt. In fact, before he could give words to the question his eyes asked, the other enlightened him:

"I's havin' a little game Sunday night, and the bulls run in on me." It was now all clear to Wyeth. He recalled the other's occupation. He had become acquainted with him through "Spoon," and recalled that he kept a rooming house for questionable purposes. In addition to this, he sold liquor, and ran a game on Saturday nights and Sundays--or any time a crowd gathered with enough money to start.

"M-m. Did they arrest you?"

"No; that is what I's goin' t' tell. I got away; but they got the rest of the bunch, every damn last one of them, the fools! You see," he explained, warming to the narrative, "it was not altogether my fault. It was like this: I had a nigga watching, that is, I had him hired to watch, but the d----n fool was a whiskey head, and had t' have a drink eve' ten minutes, claiming, of course, that it was necessary that he have plenty of booze t' keep himself awake."

Wyeth laughed quietly.

"Well, I was 'head a the game and winning right along, and didn't give a damn; so I fed him all he could pour down. The result of this was that he got good and full by and by, went off t' sleep, and the bulls walked right in on us without a word of warning.

"We were shooting craps on the bed, and the game was going along nicely. I was sitting at the head holding the lamp, and getting the cuts. At least fifteen dollars was in the betting, when, on hearing a slight noise to my back like some one creeping, I looked around--and, man! The room was full of bulls with dark lanterns, which they at that moment flashed upon us!

"I didn't know what to do for a moment. 'Up with yu' hands, niggers!' they cried. All the shines looked then into the barrels of a bunch a-guns. 'Don't try no monkey business there, you big nigger,' the sargent cried, as he observed me shifting about. All the time, though, I was edging toward a place I knew none ov'm didn't see. Suddenly, I drops the lamp, and there is some tall cussin'. A little pup--I think he was a sup'--put a star on the back of my head"--he turned and Wyeth saw it. "I staggered about now like I was knocked out. They were all over us now, a-hand cuffin' the nigga's like a lot of cattle with halters. By this time I see's my way clear t' make this break. One sucker spots me and cries: 'Look out! That big nigga!' But they were too late. I had my hand on the knob of a door that none ov'm have seen; and, swinging it open quickly, I ducked out. As I did so, one of the bulls takes a shot at me, but missed. He was determined to have me, though, if possible, so he comes after me in a hurry. That's where I am wise and he wasn't. There is a fence a few feet from the door, that he didn't see. Out he came after me in a blind fury, and, 'bing!' He ran full into the fence, and knocked the wind out of himself. I saw my chance. I was mad and scared now, too; so I rushed upon him while he was staggering about and 'bingo!' I landed on him, and knocked him cold. Then I 'beat' it. I had his gun and club and 'peeper,' and I flew. Out the back way I went like a race horse. In the rear, two or three bulls were a-workin' over this bull that I done knocked stiff. I entered the alley, and ran until I reached Bell street. An onry bunch of dogs kept barking away at me as I hurried along, and kept me scared, because I's afraid I'd be located by other bulls. I ran down one, a little pug-nosed bull. He was game and tried to bite. I reached down and got'm by the head, whirled him over my shoulder three or four times, and when I turned him loose, he landed beside a second story window, and fell to the ground a dead dog, I didn't try to see. I then began to jump fences. I bet I jumped a dozen fences, and then got hung on the last one, which held my shirt. I fell off at last, and liked to have bust open. My face was bleeding, and my head, while my shirt was soaked. I looked like the devil. I at last tore off the shirt, and tried to tie up my head, then went to my brother-in-law's."

"Gee!" exclaimed Sidney, "but you certainly had some experience!"

"Aw, man, I done some runnin', believe me!" he declared, and looked grim.

"They had plenty a-liquah--the bootlegs, too--, so's soon's I's cleaned up with my head bathed and a clean shirt, I took a few drinks, and went to bed, feeling all right.

"I laid around town hid away, until he could slip me my clothes and a few dollars. So I happened to know this porter, and arranged to come over tonight, and here I am," and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"How did those they arrested come out, and how come the cops to be next to your little game?" Wyeth inquired, casually.

"Oh, yes," cried Legs. "I forget to tell you that part of it. You see, there was a guy in the crowd--or had been, rather, whose wife didn't want him to gamble. Now he came down there and lost what little he had, and went home drunk. His wife, of course, learned that he had lost his money, and got sore. He was a damned tramp, and told her the whole story, with tears, perhaps, and you know a nigga with tears, so she went and put the cops next.

"Now 'bout them other shines--the ones who got arrested--they came before Judge Loyal's the next morning, and got ten seventy-five each."

"I thought it was fifteen seventy-five for gaming."

"They were let off lighter, owing to the fact that I was not brought. If they'd a caught me, it would have been fifteen seventy-five for them, and about a hundred for me."

Wyeth laughed amusedly.

"You don't gamble or drink liquah, either, do you?" he asked, and then answered his own question. "No, I know you don't. You're lucky for using such common sense. It doesn't pay, even if four nigga's out-a five do. Yeh," he went on wearily, "only the straight and narrow path leads to happiness in the long run," and with that he turned on his side, and went to sleep.

"Say," he cried suddenly, raising up, "what did you pay?" Then looked around quickly to see if he had been overheard.

"Two and a half," the other replied. "How much did you?"

Legs held up two fingers. "I told'm 't'was all I had, and I didn't have but a precious little more."

"Are you acquainted with any one in Chicago?" Wyeth inquired.

"Aw, yeh, a plenty; but I am not going on through now. I'm going to stop in Effingham for a while, it depends."

"Hello, Red," cried young Hatfield, coming up now, rubbing his half closed eyes. "I see you got out all right."

"Say, man!" cried Legs. "Didn't I get out of that thing in luck?"

"Bet your life on that you did," commented Hatfield. "If they'd have gotten you, the devil would have been to pay." He laughed a low, hard laugh, and then added: "Those church people have had their eyes on your place for some time, and the chances are if you had been caught, they'd have appeared against you."

"They certainly put old Jack Bell out of business proper," Legs commented, thoughtfully. "That old nigga conducted such a rotten dump and tiger, though; and all those dirty little girls around on top of it, I don't wonder."

"Wonder whether he had any money left when they got through with him?" Hatfield inquired.

"Hard to tell," said Legs. "They fined him out of hundreds, that I _do_ know."

By this time, the train was entering the city. From the car could be seen an incomplete mass of varied buildings, little shacks that faced alleys, and at the front of which played dozens of little unbleached pickaninnies. Wyeth viewed the city as the train crept slowly along, and his impression did not agree with what he had gathered from reading of it. It was not, he felt positive, the city Attalia was, although claiming almost an equal number of people.

"You see those two brick cupola's extending into the air?" he heard Hatfield saying. "That's a Negro Baptist church." He was mistaken, however, for the same proved to be the large, new station, the pride of the city.

Soon the train rolled into this, and a few minutes later, they stood in the waiting room.

"It's going to cost like the dickens to get all these grips of your hauled," said Hatfield, with a frown.

"Only had to pay thirty-five cents to get them to the depot in Attalia." He walked to the lower end of the platform, and began a series of inquiries relative to the hauling of the same. He soon came upon an express man, who agreed to unload them for fifty cents, at where-ever they found a room.

The three walked down a level street, paved with brick. On either side a lot of houses appeared behind a row of trees, dense with foliage. It was a calm, soft morning, and the sun, red and glorious, was just peeping out of the east. The street they followed led from the depot into the business section. Perhaps eight blocks ahead of them, several buildings of extraordinary height, stood outlined far above those about them. Wyeth counted the windows of two, and found them to total sixteen.

"There are two or three buildings here higher than any in Attalia," said Hatfield, following his gaze. "I think the ones you have been noticing, are twenty-five stories high."

The other whistled. "That's going some!"

Soon they were well into the business section. "Let's go by and look at that hotel they have just completed and opened," suggested Legs; for, just then, a little to the right, the outline of that beautiful structure arose. It was a grand affair, to say the least, and stood as a monument to the enterprise of the populace. It was claimed, by them, to be the swellest in the south.

"I think I can get on there after a bit," said Legs. "I'm a head waiter by trade, but I haven't done any hotel work for some little time now."

"I hear they brought all the waiters from the north," said Hatfield.

"Well," said Legs, "I'll _be_ from the north when the time comes, so I can make a fit if there is an opening."

"You'll pass, Red," laughed Hatfield, as they walked onward now in a different direction.

As Wyeth saw Effingham, he observed that it lay very differently from Attalia. It had been built up recently, so to speak, and had, therefore, broad, spacious streets, unusually so, he thought, as he now found himself in the heart of the business district. Perhaps they may have seemed wider, because he had become accustomed to the narrow highways of Attalia. In addition to the wide streets, the sidewalks stretched back from the buildings they fronted, from twelve to twenty feet, giving pedestrians plenty of room to walk unconcernedly along. As they continued on their way, he further observed that the business section covered an unusually large area, and it was hard to tell which might be called the main street. As the street cars clanged by him, he noticed another feature, also. The position occupied by the Negro passengers. They entered and left the car from the front instead of from the rear, as was the custom in Attalia.

"Negroes do lots of business in this town," said Hatfield, as they came abreast of a large, new building, that reached five stories into the air. "This, now," said he, pausing and surveying the structure, "is the Dime Savings Bank building." Wyeth, having read much about the bank, observed the building carefully. To one side, through the street door, there was no entry, or, rather, the small entry was to one side of the building, and not in the middle, and one elevator was in operation. Straight back from where they stood, the open doors of the bank (which the janitor was now sweeping) revealed the inside of the institution.

A few hours later, their wanderings brought them back again before the bank, which they entered. It proved to be a busy place, and at that hour, was filled with black people, depositing and withdrawing money, and attending to other business in connection therewith. He observed, in the first glance, that the furnishing was elegant. Behind the first desk, enclosed by an oak office fence, sat a black man, the cashier he thought, since the insignia was plated conspicuously before him. And still to the left of him, behind a grating with the insignia of _Collections_ before it, was another man, and he was blacker still. And then, in the next cage, over which was labeled boldly, _Receiving Teller_, worked still another black man. He was younger, and he worked rapidly, counting the money that was continually being thrust to him. There was another cage to the right of him, and this was marked _Paying_. Behind this worked another black man, young and intelligent, and seeming perfectly efficient, as had the others. In the rear, working over books, he saw the first mulatto. Another, brown-skinned this time, worked near him, and these made up the active members of the bank. No blue veins held sway here. It was truly a black man's bank. It was, as he had long since learned, the largest in the country conducted by black people, and the footing exceeded a half million by almost a hundred thousand dollars.

Young Hatfield, who was a student in one of the colleges of Attalia, had been to the city before, was well acquainted, and pointed out the many places of interest, and, in particular, those conducted by black people.

"The president of this bank, Dr. Jerauld," he explained, "is in failing health, and is substituted by the vice, Dr. Dearford."

"I see," acknowledged the other. "So the president, then, is a physician."

"No," corrected the other, "a minister."

Wyeth recalled now, that "Reverend" or "Elder" was almost a thing of the past among Negro preachers. They were all called, and called themselves "doctors." But he did not then realize to what extent this title was usurped. Beyond the instant of medicine and dentistry, he had noted that "doctor" was an honorary term, conferred upon men who had done something notable in the evolution of mankind; but he was soon to learn that the title had become a fetish with his people, sought after and preempted by any and everyone without even the remotest right to claim it.

"Everything that has ever been started down south has been done by the preachers. A Negro preacher down here, in the past in particular, has headed everything. Of course, that would be natural, granting that almost every man with ambition to be before the public has been a preacher," Hatfield explained. "Now, for example, the largest insurance company in Attalia--that is, with offices there and conducted by our people--has for its president, a preacher located in this town."

"I've heard of him. His name is--"

"Dr. Walden," he explained. "He's the pastor of a big church on the other side of town. Dr. Jerauld, before he retired, was pastor of the Sixth Avenue church."

"And what denomination do these preacher business men represent?"

"Oh, Baptist, of course. As I said, they are at the head of everything, including," and he smiled humorously, "a great many wives of other men." They both laughed, and Legs, who was almost forgotten, joined in.

By this time, they were wandering aimlessly down a street that finally came to an end, and ran abruptly into a brick wall. Changing their course into another street, they continued their indefinite pilgrimage. Presently, they paused before one or two neat looking houses, and inquired regarding rooms. Both were full. A convention of preachers was still in session, which explained the state of circumstances. So, on again they went, until they paused at a corner. A middle-aged woman sat on the front porch of a house that rose to two stories, and was decorated with two vine-laden porches. The house appeared to contain possibly seven or eight rooms.

"Hello, Mis'!" exclaimed Legs, in greeting so familiar that Wyeth felt he surely must know her.

"How-do," she answered as familiarly and smiling.

"Three tramps we are from Attalia, and without a place to roost. Do you happen to have a spare pole or two?"

"Sho has. Come upon the po'ch and be seated," she invited.

"A-hem. That's when you said something," smiled Legs, "eh, Mis'?" She joined in the humor.

"Well, boys," said Legs, when they were comfortably seated, "this looks good to me. Supposing we just hang up here, and send for our stuff?"

It was agreeable to the other two, and they were, therefore, duly installed, three in a room. Legs, being the longest, was given a bed to himself, while Hatfield and Wyeth agreed to share another together. It was fortunate for both that it was arranged thus, since Legs proved to be a dreadful night man, and, from his apparently restless way of tossing, required a halter.

"Any saloons around here, Mis'?" he inquired shortly, when she reappeared on the porch a few minutes later.

"Sho is!" she exclaimed. "Yeh, most sho. Go right down this street, turn the corner, and across the street near the other corner, is what you want," she laughed, taking them all for granted. Wyeth and Hatfield followed Legs to the inevitable fountain he now sought energetically.

"Got t' have a little liquah before I c'n feel like myself," he grinned, as they sauntered along.

"Hello!" called some one from the rear. Turning, they observed a medium sized Negro walking rapidly in their direction, and beckoning to them. They halted, and presently he stood before them, introducing himself.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," he began very properly; "but the Mis' back there," pointing in the direction of the house they had just left, "was telling me that you have just taken a room with her, and, since I am the man of the house, I wish to offer my name and make you welcome."

He was very cordial. His name was Moore, John Moore, he said, and to describe him, our pen fails to a degree. He had, however, an odd looking face. His cheek bones were high, slightly Indian-like, while his face was broad. His nose was not flat, nor was it high or medium, it was--just a nose, that's all. He held his head forward aggressively, his eyes were twinkling, and possessed a cordiality that, to a careful observer, was distrustful. And still, his appearance in general, was that of a Negro who might be expected to bluff, but not to fight; to steal when the opportunity was ripe, with enough cunningness to keep from being caught. Otherwise, he was apparently harmless.

They acknowledged his welcome, and, joining them, they all went toward the place of happiness by proxy.

"I'm buyin' this," said Moore, as they lined the bar, four abreast.

"Let me do the buying this time," insisted Legs, who proved himself a sport, and a good mixer.

"I've paid him already," said Moore, as if in dismissal, shoving at the same time, a half dollar across the bar.

"Whiskey," nodded Legs familiarly, to the bartender.

"Little liquah, too," from Moore.

"Beer."

"Beer."

"Drink whiskey!" insisted Legs and Moore, of the other two. "Something that has the kick."

"These are my sons," said Legs, teasingly.

"Hold on heh', George," argued Moore with the bartender, "you know how I take mine. A half-a-pint 'n' two glasses." The bartender obeyed.

Here Wyeth observed, was diplomacy, albeit economy. Moore paid twenty-five cents for the half pint, wherein he and Legs had six sociable drinks, three a-piece; whereas, the same would have totalled sixty cents otherwise.

"How's this town for gettin' hold a-something?" inquired Legs of Moore, when John Barleycorn was doing his duty.

"Best town in the south to get it, if you're wise," Moore winked.

Legs responded with a big wink. "I'm the man that put 'w' in whiskey," he smiled. "I'n get mine when it's in the gettin'."

"What's your line?" from Moore, pouring more whiskey.

"Anything from heavin' coal to sellin' liquah and operatin' a crap game, and a little 'skin' when the crowd's right."

"I see," said the other thoughtfully, then added: "And your friends?"

"This lad here is going to school to learn how to get 'his without workin'; while the other boy," pointing to Wyeth, "is already doin' it."

"Well, men," began Moore, as he opened a fresh half pint that Legs paid for, "as I said, 'f you're _wise_, Effingham is the best town in the country for pickin's. It is, as you should know, the greatest industrial center in the south."

"So I have understood," interposed Wyeth, waiving the bartender's invitation aside; "I am anxious to learn something, everything about the town, and the colored people."

"Are they employed in considerable numbers at the mines, steel mills and furnaces about here, of which the city possesses so many?"

"Thousands upon thousands," he was informed.

"And how are they paid? From a personal standpoint, I'd be glad to know?" went on Wyeth.

"All kinds of wages, and at various times. Some receive as low as a dollar and a quarter, while others make as high as seven and eight; but the average wage runs from a dollar fifty, to three dollars."

"How's the crap games?" from Legs, with the usual smile.

"Nigga's will shoot craps, yu' know," grinned Moore. "I shoot a little myself when the moon's right," he winked.

"I want t' find a good game as soon as possible, and win about a hundred," said Legs, beginning to show the effects of liquor. Hatfield and Wyeth left them to their cheerful diversion, which was now, to all appearance, warming to the superlative.

The former went toward town, looking for certain friends. Wyeth went back to the place where he was going to stay, and retired. They had called up for their luggage before they went to the saloon. Wyeth was sleeping peacefully, when he was aroused by an argument on the porch. He tried to close his ears, but the same was persistent. It was between the landlady and the expressman, who had arrived with the stuff.

"That little trunk is as heavy as lead," he heard that worthy saying.

"That has nothing to do with it," from the landlady. "They left fifty cents here to pay for it, and you must have agreed to that amount, or they would have left more."

"Seventy-five cents, seventy-five cents. That little trunk is like something filled with bricks."

"My trunk," mumbled Wyeth, coming to himself, and listening to the argument. "And that sucker is trying to work her. The dirty cur!" he now cried, angry for two reasons. One for being disturbed when he was sleeping so peacefully, and another for being worked, or trying to be. With a bound he was on the floor, and in a jiffy he was in his trousers and upon the porch.

"Well, 'f' y' ain' go'n pay it, I'll haf t' take th' stuff back," the expressman said, as Wyeth came up. The other did not see him until he mounted the porch. Then he looked into his eyes which were fighting, and recoiled.

"What's this you are going to do!" he demanded, filling the doorway, and bestowing upon the other, a look that corresponded with his feelings.

"Well, stuff I brung down heah's mor'n I thought 't'was, so I'll haf t' have a quarter mo'!"

"What kind of a proposition did we make with you in regard to hauling it at the depot awhile ago?"

"You said yu'd give me a haf a-dollah fo' haulin' it, but I didn't say I'd do it fo' a haf," he sulked, evasively.

Wyeth glared at him, but the other refused to meet his eye. "Then," he began, "when you took hold of it and loaded it into your wagon, you subsequently agreed to my offer, and now I want to see you get more."

"I'll haf t' take the stuff," argued the other, shifting about, but keeping at a safe distance. Something in the eye of the other did not offer welcome.

"Give him a quater more," called Legs, who had returned in the meantime, and had been trying to catch a little sleep.

"I don't intend to pay him one little dime more!" exclaimed Wyeth stubbornly.

"Then I'll haf t' see 'n' officer," bluffed the other, and turning, he started briskly down the street. Wyeth learned later, he was sure he could not have found one. He was not looking for any, but the landlady and Legs made up the quarter, and calling him back, paid him.

"Books is stubborn when he thinks he's been worked. M-m," said Legs, going back to bed. "Yeh, comes down to a show, believe he'd fight."