CHAPTER SEVEN

"_At Last, Oh Lord, At Last!_"

Mrs. Ernestine Jacques very soon became devoted to her roomer, Mildred Latham. She told her husband as much when she had been in the house a few days.

"She's a delightful girl, a fine companion, and I am glad she made inquiry of you in regard to lodging."

"I am pleased to hear it," said her husband. "I am glad to have found you a companion, and now you won't miss me so much, will you?"

"Of course, I will," she pouted. "I didn't mean that," she said. "But women, you know, seem to require friends, even when they have the best husbands in the world."

We leave them at this point, and return to the subject of their conversation, who had begun a canvass in the sale of Wyeth's book, and had met with success, which is neither unusual nor strange, since it depends upon the efforts of the worker.

She estimated that he would confine his work to the aristocratic section, where the multitude of servants were, so she decided to try the colored people in their homes, to begin with. Therefore, from one she learned of others, until she had a list of people whom she worked among, and with excellent results. She became an attendant of the Methodist church, where she met many, and made acquaintances that increased the success of her work. And thus her life flowed serenely along, uneventful for many weeks. But she had not seen or heard of the one she sought, although, in the course of time, she came across the book, and knew it had been bought from him.

It rained at times, until whole days were lost, for it was too wet to enter nice homes. She stayed in her room at these times, and talked with Mrs. Jacques as little as possible, although she longed to do so very much. She was glad to see, as the time went on, that the two were devoted to each other. Dr. Jacques was a good man, and was even a better husband.

"Some day," she sighed, "maybe I'll be like that." She pondered now for some time.

Mildred had reached no decision, as yet, in regard to her plans. She was nervous, at times, on the street, fearing she might meet Sidney. She worked hard to occupy herself, and thus it went along, until she had gotten her work well under way.

"Have you ever been up in the Perier building?" a lawyer, who purchased a book, inquired of her.

"No, sir, I have not. Where is that, and are there colored people about it?" she said.

"Yes, ma'am. It is a building occupied and owned by Negroes. There are a great many people located in it who would buy the book, I am sure," he informed her. "I would advise you to go."

"I thank you ever so much, indeed," she cried gratefully. "I shall go there tomorrow."

The next day was a beautiful one; the air was fragrant with the perfume of roses, and the birds sang, seemingly, everywhere.

"A storm of some proportion will reach this place before night," said Dr. Jacques. "A day that begins as this one, always ends that way!"

"My husband is a weather prognosticator," commented his wife, humorously. Mildred smiled knowingly from across the table.

"And you have been very successful with your work, Miss Latham?" said he, surveying her appreciatively.

"Oh, very much so. But it has been so elsewhere." She told him of her work in the city she had just left.

"It was a strange coincidence," said he, "how they came to secure the Y.M.C.A. in that town. I keep myself pretty well informed regarding uplift among our people, and it was truly a delight when I read, that, at almost the last minute, money that was lacking, but necessary to fulfil the requirements, was brought to hand.

"It was too bad Grantville failed in the effort to secure theirs. And they wanted it so badly," the doctor continued. "I attended school in that city, and always have a warm spot in my heart for the place."

"Well, dear," said his wife, "how did they come to fail in the effort in Grantville, and succeeded in this other town? I understood you to say that Grantville had a much more intelligent set of colored people, and more progressive."

"So it has! So it has!" he said quickly; "but by some strange coincidence, the money necessary to complete the arrangement, was brought forward at almost the last minute. Otherwise, they had acknowledged failure."

"I wonder where the money came from?" she mused.

"I suppose I must be going about my work," said Mildred, rising. "I am going to canvass the Perier building today. I have been told there are many offices occupied by persons who might buy."

"Most assuredly," said the doctor. "There are many I am sure." He was thoughtful a moment, and then continued: "Our people in this town are not possessed with that race spirit which it is claimed Negroes have in other cities. They are accused of lacking unity; but, in spite of that, when one applies himself to the task with patience and fortitude, enough of the spirit can be aroused to make work like yours remunerative. But, nevertheless, I am often distressed when I realize, that we haven't a first class local race paper here; for, without one, it is impossible to reach the people--the colored people--through advertising, unless a high rate is paid in the columns of the white paper, and that is not practical."

"Are you much acquainted in the building?" Mildred inquired.

"Oh, yes, I know everybody--that is, almost everybody. The last time I was over there, I observed that an office had been taken by one who is a stranger to me; and I observed, also, that he appeared to be studious, so it might be worth while to see him too."

She thanked him, kissed his wife, and a few minutes later, her steps died away in the distance.

"Dear," said Mrs. Jacques, "don't you know that she reminds me of someone I knew a long time ago. But who it was, where it was, I do not know; but I always feel queer when she kisses me."

"You're becoming fanciful," he smiled, lighting a cigar.

They talked about other subjects, and Mildred was, for the time, forgotten.

* * * * *

"A story of the northwest, by a Negro pioneer, eh?" said a man, upon whose office door was written: _Real Estate, Loans and Renting_. "M-m. Looks like a good book. Negroes don't write many books, although there are a great many that come the rounds about Negroes, but gotten up by whites with a sketch about Tom, Dick and Harry, and exaggerated estimates of the Negro. So, in view of the fact, I guess you may put me down for a copy, and deliver it next week."

"Thank you, sir," she said, as she wrote his name, and the date of delivery.

"Having much success?" he inquired.

"A great deal, I am glad to say," she replied pleasantly.

"Glad to hear that. There are always readers to be found, if one looks for them; but, on the whole, the people of this town have not much of a literary turn of mind."

"Indeed!"

"No, it is such a care-free, happy-go-lucky place, that not all the people who should, try to concentrate themselves in reading." He was quiet and thoughtful for a moment, and then said: "Have you tried many of the school teachers?"

"A great many," she said.

"And how did you find them?"

"Well, just fair. I sold to a few of them."

"A few of them, eh! It would seem they should welcome the fact that Negroes are beginning to write books."

"Obviously, yes."

"And the preachers?"

"They buy; but some of them dislike to, so much so, that I have dispensed with going to them."

"And the physicians?"

"They are very nice." She didn't say how nice, and he didn't ask, so it ended there.

She went from one office to another, and almost all purchased. Some out of real interest, while others subscribed merely through courtesy to her, and from the fact that it was rare to meet colored people selling, or trying to sell anything.

She had completed the third floor, and was ascending to the fourth, when the then overcast skies became darker and rain began falling fitfully. She made all the offices on that floor with her usual success, and started upon the fifth. Twilight was gathering, and, with the darkness from the clouds, lights were soon aglow.

She had made the fifth and was just passing to the elevator, when she chanced to spy an office that she had overlooked, and, in that moment, she recalled the doctor's statement about the stranger. The office was at the end of the hall--a hall that was not much used, evidently. Mildred observed, as she approached, that the door was slightly ajar. She knocked lightly, and then, receiving no invitation, pushed the door open and entered.

A man sat at the other side of the room, and he seemed to be sick, or asleep--at least he lay with face downward across the desk, at which he sat. She approached him, disregarding his apparent lethargy, and when she had offered a greeting, and he had raised himself slightly, she told him the story of the book.

He was sick, she soon saw, and she felt sympathetic. She bathed his head--his forehead--with a damp towel; then she inquired if he felt better, and looked for the first time into his face.

"At last, oh Lord, at last!" she cried, in a subdued voice, as she bounded down the steps. "I have found him, I have found him!" She walked hurriedly on her way to the street, and did not wait or think of the elevator that would have saved her strength. When she was on the street, she hurried through the rain--for it was pouring now--and did not stop until the ferry had been reached.

Once aboard this, she hid herself in the darkest place she could find, and there, as the paddle of the propeller came to her ears, she cried: "Sidney, my Sidney, I have found you. And never, never, until the end of the world will I be far from you--Oh, my love!"