CHAPTER FOUR

_"Please Go!" She Cried Hoarsely_

Weeks had passed, and Mildred Latham had not seen the man since that Sunday at church. She had become an active worker in the big Baptist church. She had no thought of becoming so, but, somehow, she couldn't keep out of it. Such a great crowd of people attended it each Sunday! But they are not the select class of people she had met at the Presbyterian. They consisted of all classes, and from every walk in life. Among them, she met many of her subscribers, and was pleased to be remembered by them. They impressed her, all of them, as being good people. In fact, she could never believe many of them bad. They were simple and too free in their thoughts--when they had any. They impressed her, at times, as so many children. Many of those who came to the church regularly, did not, she observed, pay the least attention to the sermon. For the most part, the large majority could not even have remembered the text.

And yet they came every Sunday in great numbers, in droves even. Many of them were very beautifully dressed. There were no kinky heads among them, albeit, the original had been so. The most of the hair which was theirs by birth was all straight, while the acquired portion was beautifully matched.

But the point that reconciled her, was the fact that the pastor was a good man, and a fit one. He preached always the sermon that spoke of practical uplift. And this, she judged, after a time, was why he was not liked by all, and why also, a great many made not the slightest effort to listen to his sermons.

"Aw, Reverend Castle don't preach this religion lak I wants to hear it preached," some complained.

"Um--m!" exploded others.

"They ain' no 'ligion no mo' 'mong the people; they is all out fo' style!" still others said.

And thus it went. "Out for style," was, in a great measure, quite true; but Reverend Castle's sermons could easily be understood, if those who attended made any effort whatever to do so. But they did not, and Mildred could never reconcile herself to this.

Back in Cincinnati, she recalled when she used to attend a certain theatre. The only reason colored people were allowed to purchase admittance, was because they did not come in great numbers. There were theaters where they were denied entrance, because they made such disgusting disturbances. And it was only because they would come and make no effort to understand the performance, unless it was something below par, and something entirely comic.

In this city, she had attended a great motion picture drama. It was a play built upon an incident in the history of the struggle for Christianity--the effort to overthrow the power of Caesar. Above all, it was a play for Christians, which these multitudes professed very loudly to be. And yet the entire performance was disturbed by the gallery, where only the _black_ people were allowed to sit. They were assigned this portion, because so few understood or made any effort to understand the play. These were some of the facts in the lives of her people, which exposed the Negro to the contempt of the white race.

Wilson Jacobs and Reverend Castle were preachers of a new type, and there were many other such ministers; but the masses continued to preach in the old style, regardless of the fact that many had prepared themselves to preach as these men did. The old type still continued to work upon the emotional fibre of the congregation. And, likewise, in so doing, others were disturbed who wished to be taught. But the sermons of Reverends Jacobs and Castle were not disturbed by emotional demonstrations. The people were, if the truth be known, inspired to higher ideals and a more lofty conception of life. Christ was pictured in such sermons, not as the moralist, but in the highest type of perfection, as an incentive to noble conduct.

* * * * *

Autumn finally came with its many varied tints, and the leaves were falling. Jack Frost had placed his feathery designs for the third time upon the window panes, and, in the meantime, the work for social betterment went on apace.

The effort toward the securing of the colored Y.M.C.A., as it was referred to, had proceeded to the extent that it was on everybody's lips. Wilson Jacobs had proved to be a secretary of unusual efficiency.

Mildred kept herself informed of it through the columns of the papers, and was always delighted to see that subscriptions were being paid to an encouraging degree; but she saw that, of the thirty-five thousand dollars to be raised by the colored people of the city, only six thousand dollars had been paid in, after two months campaigning. This was encouraging, nevertheless, for Grantville, with a much more intelligent Negro population, had only secured two-thirds of this amount at the end of six months. Yet twenty-nine thousand dollars were to be paid in. This amount had been over subscribed, but, getting the money was a different story. Would the black people of this town pay the twenty-nine thousand dollars before, or by the first of the coming year? For, on that day, the time limit of the Jew's contribution would expire; also, that from other sources; but it was the money from the Jew philanthropist, that figured most prominently. Frankly, when Mildred saw it, she smothered her doubts as to their ability of obtaining the desired amount.

Rallies for the purpose of raising money were given weekly, but winter-time was approaching, and colored people very often had little set aside for such a purpose. Then, already work was shutting down, and had shut down in many cases. Hard times had been felt for some time, but were beginning to be felt more so. Men by the hundreds walked the streets in search of employment, and found instead, trouble. Arresting for vagrancy had been stopped by the order of the court. Many preferred being locked up, for they complained it was so difficult to secure bread, and even at times an impossibility; whereas, while locked up, they could eat. And that meant much.

Churches were now begging for money to buy coal; the annual interest on indebtedness was past due, and Reverend Castle did double work--the Y.M.C.A. and his church.

And it was about this time, when one evening Mildred returned from her work, and was informed by the black woman, that she had a caller. She was surprised, and looked it. The black woman was too, and she likewise looked it. Moreover, she made comment. Mildred had never had a caller before.

"A gentleman," said the other, when the look of surprise spread over her face. The other winked and continued: "Some guy, too. Yes, swell," and laughed in a way which Mildred always disliked to hear.

"Who was he?" she presently inquired, thinking of someone with a growing fear.

"Didn't leave no name; said you wouldn't know it nohow," whereupon her black face took on a look that was tantalizing. Mildred ended it by going to her room. She felt the call would be repeated. And then would come the climax. She experienced a tired feeling. This being sought by one whom she did not seek, was nerve-racking; but she steeled herself for the ordeal. She hoped, since she now felt that he would call, that he would come again that same evening, and she would have it over.

And he did.

She was about to retire, but not to sleep. For, as the time passed, her nerve began to break under the strain of waiting, and she was fatigued.

"The gentleman has returned, Miss," announced the voice of the black woman, as her fingers played upon the door. Mildred opened it forthwith, and--yes, there he was. He pushed himself in without being asked, and, being surprised at the intrusion, Mildred let go the knob, whereupon he grasped it, and closed the door. He smiled at her now; a smile that lurked, that boded no good; and she felt this, with a heaving of the breast.

"Haven't seen you for some time. Why don't you bid me welcome?" he leered. Her eyes stared at him coldly, but her bosom heaved, nevertheless.

"Don't stare at me as if I were an iceberg," said the other, with his smiles. "Just an old acquaintance from"--and he jerked his thumb in the apparent direction of Cincinnati. He smiled a cruel, hard smile, as he did this, dropped uninvited into a chair and lit a cigarette.

"Have one?" he invited, and then snickered. "You are real cute now-a-days, I observe," he tortured. "Quite a church lady, ha, ha!" And he gave up to his mirth for a few seconds. "Quite cute with the preachers. Wilson Jacobs is 'bugy' 'bout you. Awful bad for you t' get up and steal away so mysteriously." He looked at her now with ill concealed glee, and then continued: "I didn't know you'd 'beat' it until the next Sunday; when I passed I didn't see you sitting on the porch with him; but, instead, he sat there alone, looking like the devil before dawn. About the time I saw him, he saw me, and looked at me as if he had caught me trying to break in his house, or something, so I lit out. I 'hunched' you'd fled d' coup then, 'n' as I was 'beating' it down the street in no slow gate, I see's a drayman a-greasin' his old hack. I had a premonition this guy, the way he regarded me, was likely to follow. So I just slips into this old crow's nest, and gets behind some-a-his junk, and gets int' conversation with him, and, sure enough, it wasn't three minutes before this 'preacher' comes walking by a-lookin' right and left for me. I laffed in my sleeve, and continued talking with the old skate. A bent key encountered my hand on the ground, 'n' I raised it up. The old buzzard spied it, and cried: 'That's a gal's key that come down heah t' have me move her in a hurry las' Sunday. I oughtta sent it to'r, but 'lows I ain' got the time.' Just lak a flash, I get's wise, so I says t' 'im: 'Was she the girl that stayed up at Jacobs'? If so, I'll carry it to her, since she's a'friend a-mine's.' 'By gad,' he coughs, ''n' I'm the one that'll let y' too,' and looked grateful. 'Where did she move to?' I inquired like I didn't care, and then added: 'Y' see, I know the place by sight, but I can't find it 's I'm turned around down here a little.' He puts me next, and I beats it up to where youse 's roostin' 'n' I comes up, I see this ole black hen a-workin' away with the house all open, 'n' nobody about, I dopes at once that you, sweet little girlie, is off some'eres to church.

"You know the rest," and rising now, he came toward her. "You ought t' be willin' t' give me a kiss now, honey, for showing how hard I'm willin' to hustle for a sight a them eyes." He advanced to where she stood. He smiled as he came, while she recoiled from the sight of him, and retreated. That appeared to please him, and he began a merry chase, dodging behind chairs and jumping up and down playfully. "Wants t' tease, eh? That's a way with you little women, yu lak t' tease! Ah! That's what makes us lak yu'. 'N', kid, I sho' does lak you. You are a pretty little wench--I mean little gal," he corrected, continuing his chase.

"Please go!" she cried hoarsely. "I don't know you. I don't want to know you. Why do you torment me!" He only smiled now, and looked grim and determined, as he at last cornered her. Between them was a chair. She got behind it, and grasped the back of it. He halted on the other side, and showed his teeth for a full minute, before he said a word, or a word was spoken.

"Did you hear me! Why don't you go! If you were a gentleman, you'd go!" His eyes narrowed to mere slits, and then he suddenly opened them wide.

"Just a kiss, dearie, why all this argument. Sometimes it goes so far that it spoils all the sweetness. Just allow me to turn this chair until I can be seated, and then I will draw you down, nicey, upon my knee, and everything is O.K.--see!" He now grasped the chair, which, despite her efforts to hold it as it was, he twisted slowly from her grasp. The next minute he had succeeded, and nothing was between them. He made one step in her direction, whereupon she recoiled in fright. He caught her wrist with his right, and then with the left, he proceeded to encircle her waist. The next moment, she felt his hot breath in her face, and then, with her free hand, she struck him a resounding smack full on his cheek, with all her strength. He released her so quickly, that he staggered backward blindly for a moment. The next he had recovered, while his face was colored with the blood she had brought to it. His eyes were narrower now than ever, while his voice, as he spoke, came in gasps.

"Why, you little wench! You little imp! You little fourflusher! You little ---- strike me, when I have kept my head closed all this time, while you sailed about here with these big niggers, the nicest little nicey. Ha! _Nice_--_Hell!_ How long do you figure these church people would kite you about, if I told them _what you were back in Cinci'_!"

She flew to the door now, and jerked it wide. A bundle of meat with clothes on, fell in with a scream. It was the black woman, and she had heard all.