J. Poindexter, Colored Part 15

one myse'f. I wonder," I says, "whut Mr. H. C. Raynor'd think ef he knowed 'at yore Uncle Zachary wuz a Persistin' Elder of the Southe'n Meth'dis' Church fur goin' on twenty yeahs?"

"Never mind what he thinks now or hereafter," he says. "It's what my late partner did that counts. Anyhow, you didn't deceive him when you told him Uncle Zach's nickname."

"'At did fit in nice," I says; "me rememb'rin', jest in the nick of time, 'at they called the ole gen'elman h.e.l.l Roarin' Zach by reason of his exhortin' powers w'en 'scribin' them brimstones an' them hot fires bein' so potent 'at the sinners could smell 'em an' s.h.i.+ver. Well, suh, tha's all part of my system: Stir a slight seasonin' of truthfulness into the mixture frum time to time an' it meks the batter stand up stiffer. An' also don't never waste a good lie widout you has to--save 'em till you needs 'em. Tha's my motto, suh."

"And I subscribe to it," he says, and he chuckles some more. In fact he's chuckling right straight along till he gets up from the table. Then he rears back in a chair and sets a cigar going. He makes me take a cigar, too, which it is the first time I has ever smoked in a white gentleman's presence whilst serving him. But this is a special occasion and more like a jollification than anything else. So I starts puffing on her when my Young Cap'n insists upon it; and then, at his command, I just lit in and told him all what had happened at Miss DeWitt's flat that morning and about a lot of other things--things I'd overheard and things I'd suspicioned--which it had not seemed fitten to tell 'em to him before this, but now both time and place appears suitable.

Talking about one thing leads to talking about another, as it will, and presently I finds myself confiding to him the expective undertakings of the firm of Poindexter & Petty, which that is all news out of a clear sky to him, seeing as I'd kept this to myself as a private matter in the early stages. He says he'd sort of figured, though, I had something up my sleeves, by reason of my having seemed so interested in the moving-picture business and all. And though he don't say so, I judges he figures out, too, that here lately I maybe has refrained from speaking to him about my own affairs when he was so pesticated about his own--which also, more or less, is the truth of it.

But now he's deeply interested and 'lows he wants to hear more. He states that while he's sorry on his own account that I is not going back home with him when he goes, which that will be just as soon as he can clean up things here and sell off the lease on the apartment and so forth, still, he says, he's glad for my sake that I'm going to stay on since I've got bright prospects ahead of me for to break into the business life of the Great City. Him saying this so kindly inspires me to go on and tell him all about our plans and purposes. I says that the outlook is that me and 'Lisses Petty will be ready to open up pretty soon, seeing as I has had word just two days before from Mr. Simons that he's almost ready to cut loose with his announcements in the papers. I'm going on further along this line when all of a sudden he busts in to ask me what about the old judge coming home in the spring-time from foreign-off parts and not finding me there to meet him?

Well, sirs, that do fetch me up short with a jar! Because, if it must be confessed, I've got to admit I has been so carried away with my own pet schemes that the thought of my obligations to Judge Priest is done entirely escaped out of my foolish mind. I hates to draw back from them new ambitions of mine and yet, seems like, I can't hardly bear the notion of breaking my bounden promises to my old boss-man after the way we'd been a.s.sociated together under the same roof for going on it's sixteen years. What with the one thing pulling me this here way and the other thing pulling me that there way, all of a sudden I now gets a kind of a choked-up feeling in my breast. I don't know whether it's the wrench at my heart or the strain on my wishbone. But it's there! So I ups and puts the proposition before the Young Cap'n and I asks what he thinks I should do?

He studies a minute and then he says to me, he says:

"Jeff," he says, "I'll tell you how I feel about it and if, in view of the lack of judgment I've shown recently in certain other matters, you still regard my advice as being worth anything, you're welcome to it.

You believe you've got a chance to make good up here, don't you? Well, then, I believe it's your duty to yourself, regardless of almost every other consideration, to take advantage of that chance. And I'm positive Judge Priest will feel the same way about it when he learns the situation. I believe he'll gladly release you from any obligations you may owe him. In fact, knowing him so well, I'll bank on it. With your consent I'll write him tonight, a long letter, setting forth the exact conditions. How does that strike you."

I tells him I is agreeable to that. But I says to him, I says:

"Mr. Dallas, one thing more, please, suh? In yore letter tell the Jedge 'at w'en he gits back, ef he finds the home-place ain't runnin' to suit him widout me on hand to he'p look after his comfort, w'y all he's got do is jest lemme know an' I'll ketch the next train fur home. Ef the bus'ness yere can't run herse'f aw'ile wid 'Lisses Petty alone on the job by hisse'f, then let the whole she-bang go busted--tha's all.

"Lis'sen, Mr. Dallas," I says, "I got yit 'nother idee in my haid--I craves to demerstrate one thing! They's some w'ite folkses w'ich claims the run of black folks nowadays ain't got no proper sense of grat.i.tudes nor faithfulness, neither. They claims 'at the new-issue cullid ain't lak the ole-timers of the race wuz--'at they furgits favors an' bre'ks pledges an' sometimes turns an' bites the hand w'ich has fed an' fondled 'em. Mebbe they is right--I ain't 'sputin' they ain't, in some cases.

But I is sayin' they is one s.h.i.+ny black n.i.g.g.e.r jest rearin' to prove the contrarywise so fur ez he pussonally is concern', w'ich I'm," I says, "him!

"An' in fu'ther proof whar'of," I says, "I begs you to mek me a solemn promise, yere an' now. I asts you, please, suh, to keep yo eye on the ole boss-man an' ef he sh'd show the onfailin' signs of feeblin'-up an'

bre'kin' down--w'ich is only to be 'spected, seein' ez he is gittin'

'long so in yeahs--I don't want you to wait 'twell he notifies me hisse'f 'at he's needin' me. 'Cause the chances is he wouldn't do it, noways, effen he feared it mout mean a sacrifice on my part fur me to come to him. I wants you to send me the word on yore own 'sponsibility an' I'll git to his side jest ez fast ez them steam-cyars kin tote me."

He says he is glad I feels thus-and-so about it and he gladly pa.s.ses his word to do like I asked him, if the situation arises. With this here point settled he guides me back to tell him yet more about the prospects of Poindexter & Petty. Which I ain't needing much prompting there, seeing as the said projects lays close to my heart and my mind. I tells him we has reached the point where we is about to close the deal for the office. In fact, I says, I has been calculating some on running up-town to see 'Lisses about that very detail this same afternoon providing he don't need me round the apartment to do something or other for him.

Whereupon he up and says an astonis.h.i.+ng thing:

"I'll go along with you if you don't mind," he says. "I want to have a look at this a.s.sociate of yours and get his views. I'd like to do more than that if it can be arranged; I'd like to lend my aid in helping to put this enterprise on its feet--to feel that, in one way or another, I had a friendly hand in it. I'm your eternal debtor, you know, Jeff."

"Go 'way frum yere, Mr. Dallas," I says, "an' quit yore foolin'. Whut bus'ness has you got gittin' yo'se'f mixed in wid a pack of n.i.g.g.e.r-rubbage? Whut would the rest of the high-toned folks down home say ef they heared of any sech goings-on 'pon yore part? Tell me 'at, suh?"

"Never mind what they'd think or what they'd say," he says; "that's my look-out. Tell me the truth now, Jeff,--have you two boys got all the money you need to start you up and to keep you going until your agency begins to pay?"

At that I has to admit to him that the prior expenses has been right smart heavier than what us two had figured on at the start-off.

"That's what I rather suspected," he says. "Now then, I've got out of my own complications in much better shape than I'd ever dreamed I could. I still have a sizeable stake left. In fact I figure I've got just about a thousand dollars to spare. If you don't feel like taking a thousand dollars from me as a gift, or in part payment for your services to me during the past twenty-odd hours, why not take it as a loan without interest until you get on your feet, or until you've had ample opportunity to try this new venture out thoroughly--No, by Jove, I've got a better plan than that! I want to stick that thousand in as an investment along with you two boys. If I never get it back, or any part of it, count it money well-spent. I've made a number of other investments in my bright young life that didn't pay either, and I'll be drawing regular dividends on this one, even though they may not be in terms of dollars and cents. Come on--let's go see this friend, Petty, of yours. You can't keep me out of the deal on anything short of an injunction."

What is you going to do with a hard-headed white man when he gets his neck bowed that-a-way? You is going to do just what we done, that's what you going do! So that's how come Poindexter & Petty is now got for their silent partner a member of one of the oldest families in West Kentucky and pure quality from the feet up.

I has come mighty close to forgetting one other thing which happens before we leaves the place to go on up to Harlem. I is helping him on with his coat when he says:

"Wait a minute! I want to write out some telegrams first. I want to send one to my lawyer, Mr. Jere Fairleigh, stating that the Prodigal will shortly be on his way back, and one to my cousin to have the home-place opened up for me--and one other. I've gotten rather behind with my correspondence lately; I'll do some letter-writing tonight. But I'll wire on ahead first. You call a messenger-boy, Jeff."

I trusts I is not no spy but I just can't keep from peeping over his shoulder whilst he's writing out that there third telegram--which it is pretty near long enough to be a letter itself--and I is rejoiced in my soul to note that it's being sent to the one I hoped 'twas--and that's Miss Henrietta Farrell.

CHAPTER XXII

_Last Words_

Well, I got my Young Cap'n off this morning. I has to admit that I begun contracting a kind of a let-down feeling in my mind as the time drawed near for us to say our farewells to one another. You couldn't exactly call it homesickness nor yet downright sorrowfulness; it was kind of a mixed sensation, with regret.i.tude and lonesomeness and gladsomeness all scrambled up together, and running through it, a knowledge that I'm going to miss him mighty much for awhile, anyhow. I certainly has grown powerful devoted to him since last summer and I knows full well that, from his standpoint, he must have similar regards towards me. I reckon our own kind of folks can appreciate how this attachment could a-sprung up betwixt us, even if most of these here Northerners can't.

It must be that my looks more or less betrays my emotions as the parting time draws closer, because he keeps on speaking cheering utterances to me about other matters, without mentioning the nearby separation; which I appreciates the spirit behind his words as much as I does the words themselves. If I told it to him once at that depot I suppose I must a-told it to him a dozen times, to give my most respectful regards to the old boss-man when next he sees him. And he keeps saying to me I must write regular and keep him posted on everything in general.

"I's sh.o.r.e countin' on seein' you down home next summer wen I comes down on a visit," I says; "I's already mekin' my plans 'cordin'ly. Mebbe," I says, "you mout ketch me sneakin' in even sooner 'en 'at, ef so be this yere bookin' agency bus'ness teks a notion to blow up on us."

"I've got a conviction you'll make good," he says. "If the first venture doesn't pan out I'll trust in you to light on your feet somewhere else--I've seen you in operation, you know." Then he goes on, speaking now a little bit wistful-like: "You seem able to figure out a way to beat this New York game, by playing it according to your own set of rules. But I couldn't do it--I had it proven to me and the proof cost me money. I'm through--and ought to be glad of it. You're just starting."

"Well, suh," I says, "I does my best. The way I looks at this town," I says, "is this yere way: Jest ez soon ez you gits over bein' daunted-up by the size of her, the best scheme is to start in lettin' on lak you knows mo' 'bout 'most ever'thin' 'en whut the folkses does w'ich has been livin' yere all along. That'll fetch 'em ef anything will, or else I misses my guess. This is the onliest place I knows of," I says, "whar a s.h.i.+ned-up counterfeit pa.s.ses muster jest ez well ez the pyure gold, ef not better, 'specially ef the gold happens to be sort of dulled-down an'

tarnished-lookin'. The very way the town is laid out he'ps to clarify my p'int, suh," I says. "She's fenced in betwixt a bluff on one side an' a Sound on the other, an' she's sufferin' frum the effects of her own joggraphy. Jest combine in yore daily actions the biggest of bluffs an'

the most roarin' of sounds an' she's liable to lay down at yore feet an'

roll over at yore command. Leas'wise," I says, "them's my beliefs."

"Probably you are right," he says. "Well, Jeff, try not to let these people up here spoil you and make you fresh and impudent. I don't believe they will, though."

"Oh, but you is wrong thar, suh," I says. "I kin tek spilin' ez well ez the nex' one. Ef they aims to come edgin' 'crost the culler-line in my direction, I ain't the one to hender 'em. Whut they gives, I'll tek an'

a bit mo'. Ef they ain't had the 'vantage of bein' raised the way you an' me is, an' wants fur to pamper me all up, I'm goin' to let 'em do so. Fact is, Mr. Dallas," I says, "I's gittin' pampered already. Lemme show you somethin', suh, in strictes' confidences--yere's a perfessional callin'-cyard, w'ich I had a lot of em struck off yistiddy at a printin'-shop over on Columbus Avenue." And I deals the top one off of the pack in my vest pocket and hands it over to him. "See whut it sez,"

I says. "It sez, 'Col. J. Exeter Poindexter, Esq.'"

"How did you work that arrangement out?" he says, smiling.

"Mouty easy-lak," I says. "'Col.' is short for 'cullid', ain't it? So I jest shortens up 'cullid' into 'Col.' an' switches it frum the caboose end to the front end. An' I changes my middle name to 'Exeter' w'ich it has a mo' stylish sound to it 'en whut 'Exodus' had. An' I tacks on the 'Esq.' at the fur endin' to mek it still mo' bindin', lak the b.u.t.ton on a rattle-snake's tail. An' thar you is, suh!"

"But you are not a colonel--yet," he says.

"Whut's the diff'unce," I says, "so long ez these yere folkses don't know no better. They fattens on bein' deceived. An', anyway," I says, "I aims fur to cultivate the military manner. Mr. Dallas," I says, "don't mek no mistek 'bout it--I's gittin' fresh already, w'ich it is the customary custom yere, an' the chances is I'll git still fresher yit.

But it'll be fur Noo Yawk pu'pposes 'sclusively. W'en I meets up wid one of my own kind of w'ite folks in these parts or w'en I goes back ag'in amongst my own folks down below the Line, I'll know my place an' my station an' I'll respec' 'em both; an' I'll be jest the same plain reg'lar ole J. Poindexter, Cullid, w'ich you alluz has knowed. Please, suh, tell Jedge Priest 'at fur me, too!" I says.

The time comes for him to get aboard without he wants to miss his train.

So we says our parting words. I reckons some of them white foreigners standing there gaping at us can't understand why it is that Mr. Dallas, and him a Southern-born white gentleman, should throw his arm around my shoulder at the farewell moment and pat me on the back. But then, of course, that's due to the ignorance of their raisings and probably they is not to blame so much after all.

I will now draw to a close with the above accounts. Writing is a sight harder work than I thought it would be when I set in to do this authorizing, and I is not sorry to be shut of the job. Anyway, from now on, I'm a New York business man, which I counts on it paying better than writing for a living, if only I've got the right salt for sprinkling on the Luck-Bird's tail.

I think I has.

THE END