CHAPTER TEN

"_Kick Higher Dare, Gal!_"

Christmas day had come and the whole country was gay and festive. In the city of our story, the sun shone beautifully, and from the way the birds sang, it was hard to believe it was late December. The streets, at an early hour, were filled with pedestrians seeking the open air, freedom and merriment. Fire crackers filled the air with noise; while the discharge of blank cartridges and an occasional gunshot, as well as a cannon now and then, added to the confusion. The sharp noises made many people start suddenly, and then smile when they recalled that it was Xmas day; the day when Jesus, our Saviour, came into the world, and began a Christian civilization.

But there was one person who was neither gay, merry, nor festive; although she had cherished hopes, dreams, and desires for that day.

Mildred Latham lurked in the confines of the room she had taken, seeing the world--a small part of it--from the window of the room she had taken a night or two before. She had remained in it ever since, venturing out only to get something to eat and drink. She was almost oblivious to the fact, that it was Xmas day, until the discharge of firearms and crackers came to her ears from the street. And then she awakened to the reality of what she would lose that day.

A Chinaman ran the restaurant where she bought her meals. At one of their stores, she had purchased a few dishes and a knife, spoon and a fork, so she brought the meals to her room, and ate the same at the table. She had no plans now for Xmas day. She tried to forget it, but the noise from the street did not permit her to do so. As the sun rose higher, the revelry became more pronounced. She tried to forget the day Mother Jane and she had planned to spend together. She tried to shut out of her mind the day she might have spent with the Jacobs. And she tried, likewise, not to see the dreary day she must now perforce spend--alone.

The sun rose higher and higher, and the day became warmer. So warm about noon, that she raised her window and permitted the soft breeze to float in upon her, filling her lungs with it, and sighing contentedly. She watched the few people that passed that way, and noted that they all appeared so happy. They were all apparently carefree and desirous of getting all the enjoyment that the day afforded. Presently it occurred to her to venture forth and get something. It was bad enough that she must spend it alone; but to hover in the four walls of that little room, was a fact she could no longer submit to.

She passed into the room that may have been called a sitting room, and where the old woman was stewing some meat on the rusty stove. Before the other turned at the sound of her footfall, she scrutinized her for a moment, meditatively. She wondered who this old woman was, who lived thus alone. She fancied what her life must be; she had other roomers, she had observed; but they came in late and left early, so she had no idea who they were, or what kind of people stayed there. She hesitated for a second, and then the other turned and faced her.

"Uh, gal," she creaked in her shaky old voice, "be goin' out t' see a li'l' Xmas, ha, ha! Sho' you might. Cain' stay shut up in that room all time!" And she grinned, which made her features repulsive to Mildred.

"Yes, ma'am, I thought I would step out and look around a while," she answered kindly. "I shall be back presently."

As she went toward the gate, the hag looked after her and shook her head, as she muttered: "That gal's a puzzle, a devilish puzzle. I cain' make her out; but of one thing I'm certain, she's straight. Huh! Yes, she's straight," and she continued shaking her head.

And it was that fact that made her a mystery to this old woman.

She walked along slowly when she got into the street, looking from one side to the other. At the end of the street, in the direction she had taken, was the warehouse district. In the old days, this had been a prominent shipping point by water; but now this had been largely substituted by railroads. The yards were quiet today, as she made her way along, while scarcely a wagon was in evidence around the many large buildings.

She walked in the same direction until she came to a street that led down to the river. She turned into this, and followed it until she stood on the banks of the stream that flowed gently southward. It was filled with a number of boats, while ferries plied back and forth to the other side. For a half hour she stood thus, with her mind free of all care, and enjoyed the stiff air that came with the breeze from the river. When she presently turned to go, she felt strangely invigorated, and decided to walk about more.

Without regard to direction, she finally found herself on Beal street, which she recognized at once. She paused briefly before venturing into it, but the street was filled with music; while across the way, several electric shows invited the crowds that poured in and out. So she went forward timidly. She stopped at length before a black boy who was turning a street piano. The music was exhilarating, and she gave him a nickel when he was starting away, whereupon he dropped the handles and played her three of the popular airs. She gave him another nickel, and he took delight in turning on three more. By this time a crowd had gathered, and, thinking quickly, she slipped away and continued her way.

She stood before a large picture show for colored people a few minutes later. At the front were gorgeous pictures, advertising the show within. She hesitated briefly, and then, fishing a five cent piece from her purse, she entered the show, and took a seat to one side. In a minute her attention was centered on the screen, where a western play in which red Indians and cowboys were in a mimic battle was being shown. The play aroused much interest in the audience, which fairly raised from the seats at times, especially when there was a gun play; and since gun playing seemed to be in evidence, much excitement was attendant during the whole time the reel was being run.

She recalled suddenly, what she had read in the book of Sidney Wyeth, with regard to Indians. He had dwelt at some length upon this subject, and had concluded a chapter with words to the effect that the Indian, as he was today, and had been for years, was in no wise what he was pictured upon the screen, or in novels, but a shiftless being, without spirit. In truth, only an example of dull inertia.

The next reel was much more original, she thought, and, therefore, more interesting--to her; but it wasn't to many of those about her, who, as she heard them, made little effort to catch the moral of it.

It was a play of present day life, in which the hero was a man employed as floor walker in a large department store, while the heroine was a girl, employed in the most insignificant position in the basement of the same. She studied the play, and was carried away with the great human interest conveyed in the plot. It was a difficult task to keep her mind and thoughts upon it, however, because all about her, many remarks came from impatient creatures, who continually muttered aloud, demanding that it be hurried off, and something with "ginger" put on.

"Hu'y, hu'y, 'n' git hit off! Git a gal out the' 'n' some song 'n' dancin'," said one who sat next to her, and who, she observed, was ragged and dirty in the bargain; his long, kinky hair stood erect on his head, and made him resemble something recently departed from the jungle.

When the vaudeville in connection therewith was put on, she was filled with disgust. It was not refined vaudeville, and in no way corresponded with the pictures that had preceeded it; but of the most vulgar sort. It brought shrill cries from the throats of those about her, and remarks that showed the character of the crowd.

"Put the sof' pedal on it, kid, ke-ha!"

"Dat gal sho kin' sing, nigga, believe muh!"

"Kick higher, dare, gal! You ain' done nothin'," growled one, who was not satisfied.

Mildred arose to go out. To get to the aisle, she must pass about ten people, mostly men in rough clothing. "Set down, gal, don' git in front-a me!" one next to her complained.

"Don' spile my gaze when dat gal's showing up lak she is," said another. With a sigh and a disgusted feeling, she sank back and made herself patient, until the disgusting performance was at an end. She had no trouble then, for all those between her and the aisle filed out ahead of her. Apparently they came to the show for the purpose of witnessing the vaudeville only.

When she was on the street again, the sun was getting toward the west, but she did not feel like going back to the hovel she called a room yet. The noise and music seemed to make her forget her troubles and worries, and, mingling with the masses that now filled the sidewalks, she followed them aimlessly along the street. She stopped before other shows, and, when, at last, finding one that appeared to have no vaudeville in connection with the pictures, and which did not appear to have such a big crowd about the entrance, she entered and took a seat toward the rear.

She had been seated about half an hour, when she chanced, upon looking back, to see someone whose face was familiar. She looked toward the front, and then, after a few minutes, in which she tried to recall where it was she had seen it before, she turned her head slowly, and looked again. Behind her, and just seating themselves, were not only three women belonging to Wilson Jacobs' church, and with whom she was well acquainted--they had been her best friends, and had admired her playing and singing--but in their midst, sat Constance herself.