The Forged Note Part 31

"_Eidder Stuck Up ah She's a Witch_"

They now pa.s.sed between two large industrial plants of the Tennessee Coal and Iron Company. To the left, roaring mightily, was one of the many blast furnaces, where the pig iron was made from the crude ore.

Innumerable small cars, upon which sat huge ladles, whirled to and fro.

Backward and forward they were pulled, out of the great shed, where they received their supply of molten matter from the largest cupolas in existence. Everywhere the white heat flashed. Hundreds and thousands of men, black and white (although as they were now seen, they were all black), worked away. System was everywhere evident. The cars, with their loads of molten heat, moved with systematic regularity, while each and every man seemed to know and fill a certain place. Only a little carelessness, a little disregard for established rules and regulation, would lead to death, of one to a score of men.

To the right of them, filling the hot summer air with sulphuric and gaseous fumes, the plant of the Semet Solvay Company was visible in all its activity. It rose grim and forbidding, with intense heat, and stretched back for a mile, seemingly, from where they pa.s.sed. Even the dirt upon which they walked, as they went into the quarters between the plants, was hot and dead. No gra.s.s was to be seen. A sickly little short weed struggled for existence in this medley of industry.

And now, before them rose a hill, at the top of which were the quarters.

High above the factories, as though seeking the air, and as if to be as much as possible free from the sulphuric fumes that at times almost stifled one, these houses stood, dirty, grim and forbidding. They rose sinister-like in the dull sunlight, and fell back beyond as they approached.

When the two had reached the summit and viewed the place closer, Sidney was, for a time, awed by the sight. Row after row of little red or brown, sh.e.l.l-like homes they were. With a thin board porch, they made little resistance against the intense heat, for it seemed hotter here than elsewhere.

At this hour, the inmates could be seen spread about on these little porches, if it happened to be on the shady side; or else, they could be seen in the houses, and some were even beneath them, anywhere they could find a spot that would permit of a little rest; for, from one to three weeks they must work at nights, twelve, thirteen and fourteen long hours. The furnace cupolas had not been cool, in many instances, since they were erected, and only two s.h.i.+fts were employed. They were predominantly black people.

Only here and there was a mulatto to be seen. Little children filled the grimy streets, that are made to stink fearfully from the slag used in the paving. And now, as the sun beats down, it was soft and stuck to the shoes, much to the provocation of the walker. Notwithstanding the apparent lack of comfort, evident everywhere in this little village of workers, these little black children, with an occasional Italian, seemed as cheerful and happy and gay, as those of the aristocrats of the South Highlands. They played busily, while their little faces, tanned by the heat, were full of joy. They were as courteous--more so than one would expect under the circ.u.mstances.

When Sidney Wyeth inquired, he learned that the T.C.I. company maintains and pays the teachers well in the schools for the education of these ma.s.ses of little, growing human beings. Unfortunately, so torn and frittered by race law legislation, the city and the county and the state are far in arrears financially, and, were it left to those bodies, these little children would not all, by any means, learn the art of reading and writing; for, with all our boast as the greatest nation of civilized people, there is no law here, that compels the parent, guardian and what more, to send these children to school. Which, perhaps, accounts for the fact that forty per cent of the black population are illiterate, and almost as large a per cent of the whites.

They walked along together in silence, Miss Annie Palmer and Sidney Wyeth. This silence was interrupted only when they drew near one or a number of these little human beings, who smiled upon them, and made eyes back at Sidney, who winked humorously, and then made them all happy with a few pennies, for he loved children. They pa.s.sed through this ma.s.s, which our pen has attempted to describe, and found themselves soon in a part given over to nature. Trees had made a brave fight for the right to exist against poisonous gases, and some had succeeded, in a measure; while garden truck, closer to its mother earth, had apparently succeeded to a still greater degree. Fences were in evidence; pride as well. The children were cleaner; the houses were not quarter-shacks any more; but commodious, even large homes, and were occupied by a cla.s.s, while workers, nevertheless they had employed their earnings otherwise than for liquor and dice, and other frivolities, the curse that submerges the more ignorant and prideless. They were a kind people, these were, and when approached with a suggestion of literature, they smiled and replied: "We are fond of reading."

Thus Miss Palmer and Sidney Wyeth began work that day, and until the sun was hurrying toward the west, they talked and said words of kind sincerity to the many they met, for these people deserved it. What was more important, some made effort toward their betterment. These were few in number. For this reason, such kind words of encouragement--ay, very often praise, was necessary.

So, one by one they subscribed, and hoped for the book soon, until their orders were many. The evening had approached until the hour was near six, when they came upon another, a black woman truly, but pride, apparently, she had plenty. While not the finest, in point of value, her house was one of the cosiest. It was painted in two colors, and reposed quietly behind a medley of small trees, around which was a fair stand of blue gra.s.s. The lace curtains, all clean and white, contrasted beautifully behind and below the pale green shades, while within the furniture was artistically arranged.

They were invited in, and made most welcome. "Yes," said the black woman, "I am fond, very fond of good books, and when it comes to one which my race has produced, I want it, for such are few. So you may take my name, and bring the book as soon as you can."

They thanked her profusely, and spoke, as they had spoken many times that day, kind words of encouragement and praise. She appreciated it.

Yet some said of this woman, before the two made this call:

"She's a mean n.i.g.g.e.r, and you'll neveh be 'vited in da' house! Um-m! She has no 'commadation 'bout her, and she's eidder stuck up, ah she's a witch!" Whereupon they shook their black heads, and went their way with a mutter.

But 'ere long another--and he was himself a practical and successful man--said: "She's O.K., a fine woman; but she runs a grocery store while her husband digs coal, and, well, she doesn't credit Tom, d.i.c.k and Harry." And then Wyeth and his companion understood.

The day's work was done at last, and they were hurrying back to town.

They were tired, both mentally and physically, but their spirits were high. They were, moreover, grateful, and seemed, to a great degree, to understand each other. Their friends.h.i.+p has reached the stage at which they could indulge in confidences, Miss Palmer especially. She regarded Wyeth, out of her liquid eyes, and smiled kindly, confidentially. "I'm glad I took up the work--now."

She smiled with more confidence than before. "Yes; I am, really. I have _enjoyed_ it." And still she smiled. He did too. She smiled back, and then, in a voice that was so soft, and kind, and confidential, she said: "You wrote it, didn't you?"

He heard the car as it crashed along through the night, for the sun had set long ago. The trees, for they were pa.s.sing through the forest, flashed darkly through the electric lighted car, and Miss Palmer waited.

He did not reply. After a time--shall we say minutes--she sought his eye. She was languid, and resigned to a degree. "If you would only admit that which I am positive is true, it would be so nice. I would truly be satisfied."

"What matter could it make?" and then he stopped. She might be more interesting curious than otherwise.... He remained silent.

"Oh, why do you maintain this silence regarding the authors.h.i.+p?" she fretted, moving restlessly about.

"Cannot we go along and sell it--that, in particular, is all that matters, isn't it?" He tried to be reasonable. "You will, as you must now see," he argued, "only need to go to the _industrial_ people, and success will be yours." She was oblivious to all this. He resumed, somewhat uncertainly:

"If many people--especially those in the cla.s.s to which I feel you belong--knew or thought that I am the author of this book, their possible interest might become doubtful; whereas, with no thought than the ordinary--that is the usual fetish--they _might_, after reading it, be much impressed with its message. Don't you agree with me?" He wanted to be reasonable, but Miss Palmer was silent.

She was still so when they left the car some minutes later. When they had reached the curbing and stepped upon the walk, they saw Hatfield. He had his suit case and was in somewhat of a hurry, from the strides he was making.

"Where is he going, home?" inquired Miss Palmer.

"I don't know," replied the other, "but I wouldn't think so at least. He never said anything to me in regard to it, when I left him this morning." Yet so he was, though he never said so, when they met him and exchanged a few words.

"I'm going to a friend's house," and he gave Wyeth a number. They told him of their success, whereupon he secured a dollar, and that was the last time they saw him. He went back with the same porter they had come over with.

It was Legs who informed Sidney that young Hatfield was going back to Attalia. Legs was having some experiences of his own. Before he related them to Wyeth, he inquired:

"Well, Books, how goes it?" He was cheerful as usual--in fact Legs was always cheerful--with one exception, which we shall cite presently.

"Fine, Legs," Wyeth beamed. "Couldn't be better, which is saying a great deal. How's things with you?"

"_Could_ be a whole lot better," he laughed, with dancing eyes; "but they have been worse. I've been busy though. Working right along. Got me a gal now, and won a little change today that I might lose tonight."

He did--and more. He lost all he had, borrowed a quarter from Wyeth, wanted a dollar, but Wyeth halted him, advising that he loaned only to purchase the means to fill his stomach, and then only when it was begging for bread.

After this, and for some time to come, Legs' fortune varied from near prosperity, to going for a whole day without anything to eat. And at these times, he dispensed with his usual cheerfulness.

One day, he p.a.w.ned his meagre jewelry for all he could obtain thereon, which amounted to only a dollar and a half. He ate a big meal at a cheap restaurant, got his s.h.i.+rts from the laundry, paid fifty cents on his room rent, and went with the remainder to a game. Luck was with him, as it is with all, once in a while. True, it was only in a small measure, but he had sufficient to finish paying his rent, bought a cold lunch that he sensibly tucked away for future purposes, and went to bed with a dollar in his pocket.

Sleeping peacefully at two A.M., he was awakened by John Moore, the man of the house, who told him--Sidney heard this--of a great game close by, and where hundreds were at stake. So Legs got up, not too cheerfully, from his comfortable bed and peaceful sleep, dressed, and a moment later, followed Moore out into the night, and to fortune. (?)

He came back in about an hour. He was drunk and broke, angry with himself, and more so with John Moore.

"d.a.m.n that n.i.g.g.e.r!" he cried terribly, when alone with Wyeth. "d.a.m.n him, d.a.m.n him, d-a-m-n him! Came in here and got me out of bed," he roared, brandis.h.i.+ng his long arms. "When I was sleeping the sleep of peace.

'n.i.g.g.a's gotta big game on; all kinds a-money. I'n beat 'm in scan, know I c'n.' And then like a fool," and here he looked down at himself, as if to see which would be the best part to kick, "I up and goes with him. Of course, he must have a drink for himself; so a quarter first went to 'get him right.' And then to the game. No sooner had we arrived than 'slip me a haf,' said he, and like a d.a.m.n fool I did. He bet a quarter that a dinge who held the c.r.a.ps wouldn't hit, and lost. He repeated--and lost again. He wanted the last quarter, declaring his luck would begin with it; but I forestalled him and got the c.r.a.ps myself and threw them dancing, clear across the table, and they turned up," Wyeth waited eagerly, "--c.r.a.ps!"

"Doggone that n.i.g.g.a! 'f he comes around me again, I'm going to shoot him in the head--right through the middle of the head!" And with this solemn declaration, he went forthwith back to bed. He slept peacefully, and awakened the following morning, hungry and madder than ever, as the fact dawned upon him. Wyeth loaned him a quarter, and gave him some good advice.

"Quit it! Get a job! Work! Honest work! Come to the room with a book, read and thereby learn something and save your money!"

"I will, so help me G.o.d!" declared the other, feeling repentant all the way through.

"And remember--in speaking of the G.o.d--he helps those who help themselves."

"My father was a preacher!"

Wyeth made no further comment; but Legs was a good rustler. He did better--for a while. He looked the town from end to end for the kind of work he followed, but without success. So it continued, day after day, his great problem was to get something to fill that stomach, which was now flabby, very much so at times. He managed, by diligent application, to drop something into it once and sometimes twice a day, and one night he came to the room with an exclamation, that he had eaten three times that day, and had a dime left in his pocket. He drew this forth, balanced it on the tip of his forefinger, observed it long and earnestly, and then said: "Little one, we are friends, it's true, but such we cannot possibly remain; for tomorrow you will have to go the way of the rest," whereupon he touched his stomach with the forefinger of his other hand. "So, tonight, on a pilgrimage of fortune we must go, you and I. It's more or less--possibly nothing. So, to the first c.r.a.p game I take thee. And once there in the glare, I shall risk you against the rest. Therefore, little one, prepare thyself, for soon I shall bet thee, understand, in the first c.r.a.p game I come to, a nickel at a time."

He did--and won. He continued then for some time to win and win, and resumed all the cheerfulness he once possessed. His winnings continued until he had redeemed his jewelry, paid a week's room rent in advance, was clean, and seven dollars to the good over all. Then it began to go the other way. He quit, however, and deposited five dollars with his friend Wyeth.

"I'm doing this," said he, "because these roomers, who shoot c.r.a.ps too, would not allow me to be otherwise than broke." Thus the fortune of Legs took a turn for the good, for one day. The next night he went broke.