It is Labor Day. Business houses are closed, buildings are decorated, excursionists are present by the thousands from neighboring cities, the roads leading from rural districts are alive with buggies, wagons and carts, all full of people, crowding into Richmond. As a consequence, Richmond is all agog with excitement. There is to be a grand parade of all the local Labor Unions, together with delegations from Unions in neighboring cities.

To add zest to the occasion, the Master Workman of the Labor Union of the United States is present and will make a speech that all are looking forward to with burning interest. The day's celebration is to wind up with a banquet, which is to rival in brilliancy any that the South has ever known. The excitement of the people of Richmond is keyed to the very highest pitch.

A carriage drove up to the hotel door, where the Master Workman was stopping, and he and the Mayor of the city got in, to be driven to the starting point of the parade, to ride at the head of the procession. John Wysong was the driver of this carriage. Being shut out from all of the departments of skilled labor on account of his color, he had been forced to join the large army of unskilled laborers, grabbing here and there in a desultory manner at every little job of work that appeared, having no steady employment. The greater part of his time he was idle, the labor market among the colored men being glutted. On account of the abnormal demand for carriages on this occasion, scores of men were pressed into service as drivers. Thus John happens to be a carriage driver on this day, and the Master Workman of the Labor Union and the Mayor are to occupy the carriage which he drives.

Surely, there must be somewhere in the universe a powerful, conscienceless being, who delights in bringing together the two beings who, more than any others of the millions of the earth, ought to be untold miles apart, and brings them together at that moment which of all others in the cycle of time is the most inappropriate. Either that, or there is a Providence who permits this disastrous meeting of uncongenial spirits, in order that out of the collision, evil in itself, there may come a spark of light, as when a negative pole meets a positive, and the electric spark results.

Fit or unfit, John Wysong is the driver of the carriage of the Master Workman of the Labor Union. Thus the chief officer of an organization whose hand had fallen heavier upon the head of John Wysong than upon any other individual in Richmond, filling his heart with a brood of vipers, to be fed and kept alive by continued misfortunes, is committed to his care.

The parade commences and winds from street to street, the Master Workman and the Mayor riding at the head of the procession. Finally, they came to a magnificent brick edifice in the course of erection. The Mayor pointed over to the building, and said, "Now, Master Workman, that building is a potent example of how well we have the labor situation in hand in the South. That church edifice is one of the very finest in the city, and is being erected by a congregation of poor Negroes, and yet, not a brick is being laid, nor a nail being driven by a Negro. Our Labor Union controls exclusively the work of the race to which it belongs and has just as absolute control of the work of the other race. Our factories make their shoes, our tailors their clothes, our machinists their stoves, our brick-layers build their houses. Our clerks sell them supplies, and at the same time we exclude them from all such employment." This remark precipitated a discussion of the relation of the Labor Union to Negro labor, and as to why the Negroes were debarred.

The Master Workman, a Northerner, the honored guest of a Southern city (an honor rarely accorded to men of the North), riding with an ex-General of the Confederate Army, the Mayor, out-Heroded Herod in his denunciation of Negroes, and expressed unalterable opposition to their ever being allowed to enter the Unions. He said, "The home, the fireside, is the dearest spot to the Anglo-Saxon, and in his family all his pride centers. Through centuries the Anglo-Saxon has been evolving his ideals and sentiments concerning home life and the place it should occupy socially in the congregation of other homes. In order to sustain these ideals a larger amount of money is needed than is needed to sustain the home life of the Negro with his ideals at their present stage of evolution. Hence, we cannot afford to enter into competition with the Negro. For it would not be a question of dollars. It would be a question of home against home. So we of the Labor Unions have decided that either our homes must be crushed out or the Negro. And you know what the Anglo-Saxon does to a weaker foe that does not accept his standard. He simply destroys him."

Here he paused for an instant, and then resumed, "But the greatest objection we have to the Negro is that his nature does not seem to have in it the seditious element to any appreciable degree. He will move along patiently, enduring evils and debating his right—actually his right—to rebel against oppression. He has an abnormal respect for constituted authority. He does not admit to himself the inherent right to throw off the hand of an oppressor. He stands and looks pleadingly at him, waiting for the time to come when the better sense of the oppressor will assert itself. He really expects for the tyrannous spirit to develop forces within that will overthrow itself. Ignorant of history, he does not know that the spirit of oppression will yield only to force or the fear of it. The Anglo-Saxon has never gotten anything for which he did not fight, or impress the party concerned that he was ready to fight for it.

"Now, our Union wants it distinctly understood that what we labor for WE MUST HAVE. We shall have it if we ignore all laws, defy all constituted authority, overthrow all government, violate all tradition. Our end MUST be attained, at whatever cost. If a foe stands in our way, and nothing will dislodge him but death, then he must die. That is the dictum of the Anglo-Saxon. The Negro, lacking this spirit, has no place in our ranks."

John Wysong had heard every word of the conversation up to this point, but his mind could go no further. It was in a whirl. Over and over again the words of the Master Workman rang in his ears: "If a foe stands in our way and nothing will dislodge him but death, then he must die." The clatter of the horses' hoofs seemed to say this; the revolving wheels of the carriage seemed to repeat it over and over, and the hum and noise of the city seemed to be but a loud echo of the sentiment that had fallen into Wysong's already disordered brain. Time and again he had to be hallooed to by the policemen to keep in the line mapped out for the parade. His hands trembled with nervous excitement, and his eyes were red and wild-looking.

At length the parade was over. The Mayor suggested that the Master Workman go to the City Hall and enter the tower, rising two hundred feet in the air, so that he could have a view of the entire city. John Wysong heard the suggestion and it made him tremble all the more violently, his heart thumping loudly the while. "If a foe stands in our way and nothing will dislodge him but death, then he must die," kept ringing in his ears.

The Reception Committee, in a carriage following that of the Master Workman, went with him to the City Hall. They entered that magnificent building and went from floor to floor, John Wysong following them, unnoticed. They entered the tower and ascended to the small, dark room at the very top, having a large window with a low window sill, through which window a person looking out could command a view of the city. The news spread that the Master Workman was going to the tower, and crowds of holiday loungers gathered about to cheer him when he appeared at the tower window. Others gathered to find out the meaning of this crowd, so the throng swelled and swelled. The Master Workman and his group are now in the small tower room. All the members of the group stand back to allow him to look out of the large, open window. When the crowd below sees his stalwart form appear at this window, it raises cheer after cheer. The remainder of the group rush to the window to look out over the Master Workman's shoulders to see the meaning of the noise and the crowd.

John Wysong, who had stood just outside of the door of the tower, saw the rush to the window, and, the soil being prepared, the seed of murder dropped into his heart. His breath came hot and fast. He stepped with the stealthiness of a cat toward the group surrounding the Master Workman. They were all intent upon the cheering crowd beneath, and did not notice him. He pressed for room, but those he touched, having their heads out of the window, supposed it to be a fellow committeeman, and did not look round. John stooped down and as quick as a flash seized hold of the Master Workman's ankles, and gave him a quick, powerful, upward jerk that threw him forward, out of the window. As he went tossing out, a committeeman seized his coat and held him thus for an instant. But it was only for an instant. The committeeman pressed his side against the window facing and held to the coat; but it began to rip, aided by the violent, but fruitless clutching of the Master Workman. Slowly but surely the coat was ripping.

Two hundred feet below, the people were paralyzed with horror. They saw the form of the man whom they were so wildly cheering a moment before suspended in mid-air, sustained by a ripping coat. A thousand hearts stood still; a thousand voices were mute; a thousand chills of terror crept over men's shuddering frames. The coat gave way and the Master Workman started down on his awful journey. The people turned their heads away from the sickening sight to follow. Fifty feet from the top of the tower the body struck a protuberance, bounded outward, and fell plump upon the iron palings two hundred feet below, and they ran their narrow shaped heads through his body as unconcernedly as though they were stationed there from all eternity to receive him.