The Forged Note Part 48

CHAPTER NINETEEN

_They Turned Her Out of Church_

Sat.u.r.day night of that week was a beautiful night, and everybody sought the open air--no, almost everybody. There were a few that didn't, in fact they sought the closed inside for a purpose.

Murphy had a good crowd, for it was pay day, and everything was "sliding" along O.K. Glenview, who had purchased a new novel from Wyeth, who bought them and sold the same at a discount when he had read them, was there too. So was John Moore, _he_ was always there. Wyeth was below, and so was Legs, for, strange as it may seem, he had kept his pledge thus far. He was glad of it, too, which is ahead of our story.

Easy.

A game was on, a big game, and darkies were uncoated; perspiration flowed freely. Wyeth retired about twelve, or it might have been earlier--it makes little difference. The game was on, and so was somebody else. Wyeth felt himself being shook, but could not seem to awaken at once. Words came to his ears, and it was the voice of Legs that spoke:

"Get up," it said, in subdued excitement. "Get up, you fool."

"Go to the devil! Are you crazy? Don't awaken me. I'm tired and want to rest," he answered unconsciously.

"I said, arise--at once. Somethin' doin'."

"Will you go to the devil, or shall I hit you in the ear and dispatch you forthwith! I want to rest, you pair of Legs."

"Listen! Listen! Hear them, Books!"

Books heard something, but he didn't know what it was; moreover, he didn't care--in fact, he didn't want to hear. He wanted to sleep. It was a fine night for sleeping, too. The soft air floated in through the window at his head, and the vines and garden the Mis' raised, and which grew within a few feet of him, perfumed it with nature's own. Why should he be concerned about what went on up in Murphy's den. He kicked at Legs, when he repeated.

Legs went into the other room, but the noise from above persisted.

"Look out there, n.i.g.g.e.r!" it said. "Don't start nothing, don't start nothing! Get around there, you, beside that other n.i.g.g.e.r! Now, here, you, ink, put these cuffs on the two n.i.g.g.e.rs against the wall. Right around the wrists, you fool. I've put them on you often enough for you to know that they don't go on the shoulders. And don't be so d.a.m.n nervous. You s.h.i.+ver around there as though it was the first time you've been arrested. Are you done? Well, stand over in that row beside them other n.i.g.g.e.rs! Don't think because I know you that you c'n ease out that window. And don't figure I'm going to play any pets! Heah! Heah! You little black rat! You, I say, with the pop peepers! If you try any monkey foolishness, I'll put'm out, I'll put'm out! Hear that n.i.g.g.e.r, hear that! I'll shoot you n.i.g.g.e.r, I'll shoot you!"

"Hear'm Books, hear'm! It's the police. They're upstairs. They're making a raid. Hear'm Books!" came Leg's voice, as he came back to where Wyeth lay. Sidney had awakened now. Sitting up in bed, he listened to the voices that came down from upstairs. It was still a little vague, but Legs spoke again:

"They are coming down now." And so they were. A noise of many feet tramping about, began to file downward on the rickety steps.

"Wait, Frank," came a voice. "Let me out on the front, so I can hold a gun on these n.i.g.g.e.rs. Now come ahead. Now, n.i.g.g.e.rs, the first one that makes a break, remember, out goes his light, bingo!"

"Mary, oh, Mary, bring me my coat and hat." Wyeth was dressed now and peeping out the window. Yes, it was John Moore, and he wanted his coat and hat. He was going away, on a journey. The Mis', very much frightened, hurried forward, and held them out to him. He placed the hat on his head, and took the coat on his arm. He wore cuffs, so that made a difference.

The Mis' fell into the room a moment later, and gave up to silent anguish. It was not the first time she had witnessed a raid. Sometimes Wyeth felt sorry for her. For, once upon a time she had been a good woman, she was yet when she could be. At least she was always kind; but when liquor was voted out of the state some years before, he, her husband then, took up the sale of it, contrary to the law. He had been caught once, and then twice. He had then been caught the third time. The third time is when you go to the mines. You may never return from these places, so 'tis said. "They kill you out there," is what John Moore had told him once, grimly. "Yes, they _kill_ you out there. It's _h.e.l.l_!"

They killed the Mis's husband. And she had a son, and he sold liquor too. He was a dissipated youth. The mines had him six months. They gave him back to her. T.B. He died. And at this time she mourned his loss.

She was now alone in the world. She had, at first, made an honest living, and was a member of the A.M.E. church. She became acquainted with John Moore. Well, they turned her out of church some time afterward. They would have done so sooner, but she was pitied, and black people have sympathy--even for criminals. The Mis' had lost her husband, and then her son and--but they turned her out of church. That's bad. Oh, it's awful bad to be turned out of church. Black faces, crooked often, regard one with dark suspicion when he is turned out of church, especially if a woman.

And now they had _him_. The other, her consort, for such he was, because you see, be merciful, she was a human being.... And all human beings cry out for love, yes, _love_....

"Take along his Bible, Mis'," grinned Legs. And then he looked at her.... Yes, Legs knew the story too.... He was sorry, terribly sorry.

They were all sorry for the Mis'.

Legs and Wyeth now stood on the outside. It was safe now. They watched the arrangement.

Four abreast they now stood lined in four rows. They were all handcuffed together. John Moore was there, bringing up the rear. Murphy was, too.

Being the man of the house, he was honored with a place at the front.

And behind these sixteen men, walked his honor, the police. And so very insignificant they were, apparently. Yet, they were the _law_! And that means more than our pen can describe here.

Black people claim to fear G.o.d and no other. They don't. The most of them do not understand it in a larger sense. No. But, notwithstanding the fact that, in Dixie they are forever breaking it, they _do_ fear the law--and the white man.

They filed now, a row at a time, and a few feet apart, across the street. Under the flaring electric street lamp they pa.s.sed, some bareheaded, but all downcast, discouraged and remorseful. Oh, this was the law. The law of Effingham declared: "Thou must not game!" In the middle of the street they walked, and a few minutes later, they pa.s.sed under the light of the lamp at the next intersection, and disappeared in the direction of the station. And it was only then, Wyeth recalled, that among them he had not observed Glenview. He was not there, he was positive; and yet he was at the game. Where was he? Where did he go?

He turned his eyes in the direction of the rear, and at that moment Glenview walked into view.

"You!" cried many voices, for a curious crowd of crooks had gathered.

Good people had long since retired.

"Well?" he smiled.

"Well...."

"I'm _here_. Not _there_!" And his eyes went in the direction of the others, who were now pa.s.sing under another light, into a bigger light.

"Well?"

"I saw they were nothing but a pair of snots."

"Well?"

"The window was open."

"The window?"

"And the _outside_ air was _very_ inviting. Much more than that _other_."

"Oh...." It was becoming clear to all now. The Mis' looked disappointed.

Sometimes she had not liked Glenview.... He winked and went to the front of the house.

"Well," sighed the Mis', resignedly. "They certainly got a bunch of them," and then laughed, a laugh that Wyeth had heard before and knew.

Not a cheerful laugh, but a dry, hard laugh. One that was possible after years of bitterness.

By this time, a score or more Negroes, denizens of the night, had gathered and were exchanging opinions, offering theories, and executing objections.

"Some low down n.i.g.g.a done turned'm up." This was what a large Negress, with imposing hips, was saying. She sold liquor across the way, and conducted a house for any kind of purpose.

"Some doity li'l' stool pigeon," added another, who was more doubtful still. Wyeth regarded them a moment in disgust. They were dressed as they were when they arose that morning or that afternoon, or whenever it was, which was not in the last hour or two.

It was Glenview who detailed the raid now at some length. "A big Negro was shooting for three dollars. A little guy, who appeared to be very drunk, kept making a fuss, finally asking to be let out. He went, and when Murphy opened the street door for that purpose, well, in walked the bulls--no, the little snots."

"I'm going upstairs to see how it looks after the scramble," said he, and a moment later his feet were heard in that direction. He had no sooner hit the landing, than from above came a dreadful noise. A cras.h.i.+ng of window panes indicated that someone was trying to get out of the window. A table turned over with considerable objections, judging from the noise it made. The whatever-it-was appeared to be coming toward the stair in post haste now. Chairs were cast aside, without care of how they might land, and then it appeared on the landing. A moment later it came down, much a tumble, and not in the usual way. Hands and legs and feet seemed altogether, as they did many stunts on the way down. Eyes were opened wide, while breaths were held, as the spectacle was observed closely. And then it landed. One moment it lingered, and made a funny picture for the many eyes. Then it became erect--and behold! It was a man.

But he hadn't taken the time to dress entirely. He had, upon coming down, or deciding to do so, donned only a coat; while his large, loose knee lengths stood out conspicuously from the small legs, that reminded one of pipe stems, smoked ones--coming out of huge corn cobs.

It came about when Glenview ascended the stair, and met it in the act of looking about to ascertain whether the coast was clear.