The Open Question Part 6

A young lady rose, wiped away a sympathetic tear, crossed behind the wooden bar, and opened a door. The President meanwhile opened a reticule, took out a bottle of lavender-water, and poured a few drops on her handkerchief. Through the open door presently appeared the old negro, the little quadroon girl (evidently ill), and a great strapping mulatto woman. Mrs. Gano kept looking for the rest, while the trio huddled together like sheep in the farthest corner, until "daughter"

indicated that benches were to be sat upon.

"Do they come in threes?" Mrs. Gano whispered to Miss Tallmadge.

"This is all there are this time."

The President opened a large ledger, dipped and poised a pen, and nodded to "daughter." Daughter bent down and spoke to the old man. He got up trembling, and followed the young lady out behind the bar to the little open s.p.a.ce in front of the desk. The look on his face was not the look negroes commonly wore when mounting the block in Southern slave-markets.

It was more like the look that would come into their faces when they were knocked down to some notoriously hard master.

"What is your name?"

"Jake, mehm."

"Jake what?"

"Jes' Jake, mehm. F'om Henderson's."

"Oh, I have a letter about you." She looked about among her papers.

"Yes, here; I will tabulate this and see what we can do for you. You may come to the next meeting."

"Yes, mehm."

He hobbled a step or two away in a dazed fas.h.i.+on, when a piercing shriek rang across the room. He started as if a lash had been laid across his back. The little quadroon girl was standing up, holding out two shaking arms to him. The old man blinked.

"I swar I ain't leabin' yo', Till. I gwine t' wait by de do'."

But the little girl flew forward, climbing benches and creeping under the bar. She had nearly reached the old man when the President, leaning forward, said:

"Are you not the girl I sent to Mrs. Parsons's as general servant?"

"Yes, mehm," said the candidate, taking tight hold of the old man's coat.

"I have a very bad account of you."

"Yes, mehm."

"Mrs. Tilson says you are idle and good for nothing."

"Yes, mehm."

The old man took her hand.

"She ain't berry well, mehm, sence we come t' Bosting. Mebbe she'll be better able by'm-by t' go where dere ain't eleben chillen and so much snow ter shubbel."

"You look anything but strong," said the President. "I'll try to find you an easier place. They all want easier places," she said, over her shoulder, to the domestic philanthropists.

"Hus.h.!.+ Hus.h.!.+ I'll tell de lady, honey, ef yer don' take an' cry."

But the President was motioning the other candidate forward. The old man stood hesitating, and then began shakily:

"It 'ud be mighty kin', mehm, ef yo' could get Till an' me de same place."

"The _same_ place!" echoed the President, sharply.

"Y--yes, mehm," faltered the old man, backing timidly; "or anyways places close togedder, mehm, please, mehm."

"That's seldom possible."

The little quadroon wept audibly. The old man patted her arm feebly.

"I--I disremember it myself, but Till, yere, _she_ says I tol' 'er down Georgy dat up yere in Bosting dey didn't nebber make de chilluns go one way an' de ole folks anudder."

"We'll do what we can."

"Thank yo', mehm."

And they went out.

The President made an entry in the ledger.

"The old grandfather is said to be an invaluable hand at polis.h.i.+ng plate," she said, with a sardonic look at her fellow philanthropists.

"Any one who wishes may see his credentials after the meeting. Daughter, I called the next candidate."

"I _have_ told her, ma."

"Come forward!" commanded the President.

The big mulatto woman wriggled about, and then got up, frightfully embarra.s.sed, and by dint of kindly urging from "daughter" and the President, she was finally landed in front of the desk.

"Now," said the President, fixing the woman through her spectacles, "where have you resided?"

This question was repeated three times and in three forms.

"Oh, w'ere I libs? Up Corn Alley."

"But before you lived in Corn Alley, where did you come from?"

"F'om Jacksing's."

"Where did the Jacksons live?"

"On de hill."

"What hill?"

She thought deeply, and then looked up, grinning and silent.

"What State?" asked the President, with a haggard air.