The Arraignment

"I guess that will do," whispered Wyeth to himself, arising from his typewriter at one-thirty the following morning. Carefully he placed the typewritten pages in the drawer, and retired.

"A colored man to see you, Mr. Byron," said the clerk, to the managing editor of the Effingham Age-Herald.

"Show him in," said the other shortly, and kept about his work. A moment later, Sidney Wyeth stood before the editor.

"Well?"

"I should like twenty minutes talk with you, Mr. Byron," said the other calmly.

The editor laid down his pen, and raising his eyes, he began at the feet, which were somewhat large, ran the gaze up a pair of long legs, and finally saw a chin, a nose and the eyes, and there they stopped. He had been in the act of freezing, what he was confident was a crank, a fool, or a knave. To walk calmly into the office of the managing editor, and ask for twenty minutes of his time! It was incredulous. And yet, when he saw the eyes of the other, something therein told him strangely, that this man was no fool, nor a knave—nor any of the things he had been feeling. He was—well, he was a colored man, which made it stranger still, for colored men had not been in the habit of coming to his office at all, much less asking for such an amount of time on his busy day. He shifted his position, and finally, after swallowing guiltily, the words he started to say, he added:

"Be seated."

"I realize that you are busy, very busy, Mr. Byron," Wyeth began rapidly, not waiting for the other to say anything more. "But my business is a matter of grave importance, of the very gravest importance. And that is why I have called, and asked for the amount of time which I am aware is not customary for you to grant."

The other said nothing. He knew of nothing to say; but, somehow, he simply sat viewing Sidney Wyeth out of curious eyes—and waiting. The other unfolded one of several papers; they were, the editor now saw, previous issues of his paper. He wondered. He had been very careful to kill stories that smelled of strife between the races.... He did not conduct his paper with an appeal to race prejudice. Mr. Byron was proud of the fact, too. Moreover, while he had doubts as to the hurried evolution of the Negro race to a place in the least equal to the one of which he was a member, he had always tried, when he could conveniently do so, to say a word of kind encouragement with regard to the colored people. Only that week, he had run a strong account on the front page, with regard to the governor's visit to Tuscola, at the invitation of its principal, who had extended it. The invitation came for the purpose of allowing the state government to see, by a personal inspection, whether the colored schools were entitled to a portion of certain funds, the Federal government had appropriated for the purpose of farm demonstration work. Following his return to the city, the governor had, without reservation, announced that the appropriation would be so divided, as to allow Tuscola Institute and another Negro school, a liberal portion of said funds.

Steven Byron justly took some of the credit for this, and now is it a wonder that he held his breath, while this young Negro, whom he had never seen before, unfolded the paper and finally began.

Coming to the side of his desk, Wyeth reseated himself, and, pointing to an article, said: "You recall this incident?"

"Yes," said the editor, still wondering.

"And this one also," said the other, with another paper unfolded and spread before him.

"Of course."

And for the next few seconds he showed him others. The other was still wondering, when Wyeth said:

"Do you recall following this particular Wednesday, when you published this article in regard to the park for colored people, the number of teachers and preachers who presented themselves as the commissioner had suggested and requested?"

"Well, yes. There were—"

"Eight, to be exact. Three preachers and five teachers."

"Yes." The other was still curious.

"Have you any idea what number of preachers and teachers you have among the colored people of this city?"

"Why, a great many, I am sure."

"Three hundred or more, according to the directory. I don't think they got all that teach elsewhere, and make their homes here during vacation; and I know they have not all the preachers, but that is neither here nor there.

"In regard to this article about securing a library for the colored people. How many visits, can you recall, were paid you by any of the teachers and preachers following the publication of it? And can you recall how many letters you received, or anything else connected with the instant?"

"I can quite well, I regret to say," replied the editor; "for the simple reason I received no letters nor any visits."

"You requested, in your paper of recent issue, and which is before you, that the leading colored people—and of course this includes the teachers—should call at your office to make arrangement for the coming lecture in regard to the need of Y.M.C.A.'s for the colored people of the south. I suppose you have been favored with many visits?"

The other shook his head sadly, as he replied: "No one has called among your people."

"Very well. Has it ever occurred to you, Mr. Byron, that an unusual amount of crime appears to be the order in this city?"

"Who couldn't realize it, that lived here or knew of the place through the columns of the papers?"

"And, unfortunately, eighty per cent of the murders are committed by a certain two-fifths of our population. That two-fifths represents my race."

The editor nodded.

"Then, in view of what I have just called to your attention, does it occur to you that the leaders—or the should-be-leaders of my people of this city, are indicating, by their actions, that they care a hang what becomes of the race?"

The elements were beginning to clear now. The editor said: "It certainly doesn't appear so."

"And yet how many of these people, in conversation, are ever ready, when there is a mob demonstration, to exploit—which in itself is much in order—the 'best' people. And what consideration should be shown them, regardless of the ignorance and crime of the masses? Does it not occur to the casual observer, that a great deal of negligence is the order when it comes to moral uplift, on the part of the leading Negroes themselves?"

"I cannot help but agree with you."

"Then, Mr. Byron, I have prepared an article arraigning this element of my race, that I have brought with me, and ask you to examine it, with a view to publication. I beg you to read the same carefully, and if you feel you would like to run it, I shall appreciate it. And if you do not, I will call tomorrow and get the same." Forthwith, he handed the editor the typewritten pages he had prepared the night before, and, with a bow, left the office.

"The colored man that was here yesterday, Mr. Byron, has called again, and waits outside."

"Show him in, show him in at once," cried the editor, turning about, and preparing himself for a conversation.

"Well, sir," said Wyeth, after greetings had been exchanged, "you, of course, realize what I am here for."

"And I am certainly glad you called," returned the editor, with a serious face. "I have read the article, and reread parts of it." He paused, and was thoughtful before he went on, "and must say that it is certainly strong. Whew! The colored people are liable to lynch you for such an arraignment, if I know them a little."

"I had considered all that before I submitted it," said the other, resignedly.

"If a white man wrote such an article and brought it to the office, I would not, under any consideration, publish it. But, since it has been written by a colored man, well, that makes a difference." He was silent again.

"Do you know," he said, regarding Wyeth keenly, "I thought over what you wrote all last night. I have thought of it in that way before, but it would never have done to give utterance to it, me, a white man. But, take for instance" (he drew out the manuscript, and turned to a certain page): "You say here, that multitudes of these so-called leaders have accepted the work and the teaching of the wizard of Tuscola, merely because the white people have; and that, in accepting him and his views for the welfare of the race, it has been merely to be on the popular side, because the wizard is so much so; but that they have no sincerity whatever in the words they say about him." He laid the sheets down, and, raising his finger, said: "How true that is! Why I know personally, scores that would kick him for the statements he has made, if they could do so. But, as you say further, they seek to get into the band wagon, at any cost. Now you refer, at some length, to the proposal to secure a park.

"It is a positive fact, that the good white people of the south, are made the object of bitterness by the northern people, on account of something for which they cannot always be blamed. Now, who would believe at the north, that the white people were willing and ready to give the colored people a park, a place for an outing for the children; and the colored people didn't want it?" Wyeth shook his head.

"Nobody!" declared the editor. "Nobody in the world, and yet here is an example in this very town, which has more murder and crime among its black population than any city in the world, regardless of the size! And your race; that body of people, the teachers and preachers, to whom we have naturally looked and asked for cooperation in securing a park, have simply ignored our invitation!

"Now, in regard to the library. Here is the article, and which I, with care, prepared myself. What good has it done? I have asked their cooperation, not their money; but I have been ignored, the same as the commissioner was in regard to the park. And before and since then, crime continues.

"We know the law-abiding colored people cannot be altogether responsible, for the crime of the polluted and the criminal; but, Lord! One would not suppose that they would so utterly disregard an effort on our part for their civic welfare.

"In the end, you call attention to the churches and the condition of the pastors. It is certainly time someone is calling to time ignorance in the ministry. Frankly, I have long been of the opinion you advance in the article, that an educational requirement should become a law with regard to preachers, as well as to men in other professions. Think of it! A profession, calling for the highest general intelligence, having the lowest rate of intelligence!

"And, again, this church building bee has submerged the Baptist church, among the colored people. How can any of them be of any practical service, when there is one for every one who can say 'Jesus!'

"You draw attention to the inability of the southern cities to secure Y.M.C.A's, where the great masses of black people, of course, live. Not a one is in operation, as they are conducted by the whites, or by the colored people of the north. It is easy to excuse the matter by pleading poverty. But, while that is a plausible excuse, it seems quite feasible to build great big churches for a certain few. They have two churches in this town that would cost more than a Y.M.C.A. building, complete. And yet, in Grantville, and the other town, and Attalia, they are required to raise only about one-third of the amount necessary.

"What, then, is the cause of this failure? You have answered it in the pages of this manuscript.

"I am going to publish it. And in doing so, I am forewarned that it is going to arouse a world of indignation among your people, or I miss my guess. But it needs to be done. Something should come before them, to awaken this sluggishness with regard to uplift among their own. So you may look for it—the entire article, on the front page of next Sunday's issue. Good day!"

"That was sure a dirty deal Dr. Randall and Dr. Bard handed Tempest, wasn't it?" remarked L. Jones, editor and owner of the Effingham Reporter, colored, to his assistant.

"I don't fully understand. What was it? I hear that Wyeth bet, or rather, made a bet with Dr. Bard about something," said the other, attentively.

"Made a bet with Bard and beat him a mile and Bard, through his friendship with Randall, who has had it in for Wyeth since he came here, over a bet that Wyeth won from him, hedged on it the dirtiest you can imagine."

"Tell me in detail about it," requested the other. At that moment, a private detective entered the office, and, upon overhearing the conversation, said:

"I can tell you all about it, because I was there when the bet was made.

"It was like this, or came about in this way: Down at the drug store, Wyeth has had the nerve—I guess that is how you can place it, since the bunch, including Bard and Randall—especially Randall, don't appear to appreciate that any one knows anything but themselves. At least, they have been this way in regard to that fellow Wyeth. So an argument came about that Wyeth got into. He quoted an editorial in regard to the prosperity of California, and mentioned that California had more automobiles, in proportion to population, than any state in the union. Randall had no reason to take exception to this, further than he was so anxious to put this Wyeth in the wrong. He started an argument, but, of course, he had his dose last summer and knew—if he would have admitted it—that Wyeth was not arguing on something he didn't know. But Bard, who accepts Randall as the man who knows everything, and who has argued so much that he would try to down anybody for the sake of it, was regardless as to the merit. Bard took exception. Those fellows cannot appreciate anybody's knowing anything, unless he is a doctor. So, in the course of the argument, Bard offered to bet Wyeth five dollars, that the state of Iowa had more automobiles than California, in proportion to its population. Wyeth called him, and they put up the money.

"I heard Bard explaining to one of their friends, that Iowa had so many automobiles; but was away down when it came to population. Wyeth overheard him, and agreed that Iowa did have lots of machines, but that he was wrong in regard to its being away down in population. That, in fact, Iowa had almost as many people as California. The crowd ridiculed such an idea, and cited the big cities of California, as an evidence of the fact. 'There is no call for argument when the same is down in black and white. Look it up in the census,' Wyeth declared. Bard colored, while Randall fished around in his belongings, and found a book containing the last government census report. Now, what do you think of a bunch that are always arguing, and not one of them knew the population of either of those great states. Not a one, and most of them graduated from college. Which showed that they have not studied what is around them, while Wyeth had.

"The report they found, had Iowa's population for fifteen years before. 'Wrong,' said Wyeth calmly. 'Well, here it is in black and white,' they all cried at once. 'But it's wrong, I say,' declared Wyeth. 'You can't convince Tempest on anything,' declared Randall disgustedly. 'You cannot convince me that Iowa has not increased in population in fifteen years. The census you are poring over there, is fifteen years old.' They were taken aback. They looked at the top of the page and saw they were all wrong again. Not a word did they say. No, they wouldn't admit in words to him, that they were wrong when it was before them. Wyeth called the population, and when they looked just to the side, there it was. It was the same with California. And still, not one of that bunch said: 'By jove! He's right.' No, but they all knew then that he had won that bet. And Dr. Bard was sick. Just sick, while Randall was sore with himself.

"Now here is how they hedged and kept from paying it: Wyeth wrote to two of the biggest motor magazines, and to the department of commerce. The department of commerce wrote back that the information he required, could be gotten by consulting the magazine he had written to, and stated what issues gave it. Wyeth brought the issues and the letters. They then claimed that they would accept the information from the secretaries of the states only. He wrote to these people, and, strange to say, they did not answer. And that was how they hedged. There was only one of the bunch that frequents the place regularly, who was man enough to tell them how cheap it was, and that was Dr. Landrum. He purchased Wyeth's book and read it, and told Wyeth that he had done finely for a beginner; Randall has had more criticism to offer upon it than any one else, but would not, of course, honor Wyeth by buying one."

"I guess he more than paid for one, from what I have heard," laughed Jones, and related the incident of the bet, which had become known about town.

"Well," said the detective, "they are giving him the laugh down there now, about how Randall called him on his criticisms."

"I heard about that, too," said Jones. "But you take it from me. That fellow is going to make a fool of those fellows yet. The man has something up his sleeve behind all this criticism he is accused of, and I am looking for him to do something. I don't know what it will be; but I feel in my bones, that it will be something that we will all know about."

"I agree with you," said the detective. "That fellow has no college education like Randall and Bard, and others, that feel they are the only fish in the pond; but he is a walking encyclopedia when it comes to every day facts about our country and the people, and some day we are going to hear from him otherwise than through the pages of his book. He didn't know all about writing when he wrote that; but it's some book at any rate," and with that, he rose and went his way.

Sunday was a beautiful day. The air was calm and soft. A crowd was on hand early at Randall's pharmacy, as was the usual custom on Sunday.

"Well," said Randall cheerfully, "today is fine. Wonder where Tempest is." And he looked about at the others, amusedly. A tittering went the rounds.

"He appears to be somewhat scarce about these premises, since you called him some days ago," said Bard, whereupon there was some more tittering.

"Well, guess I'll look over the paper, since our wise friend isn't around to teach us something," and, smothering his glee, he uncovered the Age-Herald. Laying the funny pages aside, he allowed his gaze to fall upon the front page of the general news section.

"What in Hell!" he exclaimed, in the next breath.

"What is it, Ran?" cried the crowd.

"Negro says race faces dreadful conditions, due to lack of interest by their leaders. Says selfishness is so much the order that there is no interest whatever toward uplift. Professional Negro the worst."

"Have you read this?" cried Professor Dawes, bursting in a few minutes later. "What do you think of it?" He was very much excited. So were many others.

"That Negro's crazy!" cried Professor Ewes, of the Mater School. Professor Ewes had read Wyeth's book, which was loaned to him by one of his teachers, who had purchased it from one of Wyeth's agents, in two payments. She had loaned it to Professor Ewes, and Professor Ewes had, in turn, loaned it to Professor Dawes, and Professor Dawes had, in turn, loaned it to another professor, and after all three had read it, it was returned to the original purchaser, who had seen the advertisement, that it was on sale at the biggest white store in the south, and had been inspired to subscribe for it, on that account. When the book was returned to her, she had read fifty odd pages and liked it, so she told Miss Palmer. She further said, she hoped some day to know the young man, who had written such a great story. And then Miss Palmer told her. Forthwith, all interest became an argument.

"Do you mean to say, that fellow is the author of the book?" she inquired of her professor.

"Oh, yes," he said.

When the agent called for the remainder due, he was handed the book, with a statement that it was positively N.G. When the agent opened it, as he was leaving the rear of the house of the wealthy white people, a book mark dropped from between pages fifty and fifty-one.

"Did you read what he said about the teachers?" exclaimed a supernumerary, stopping in at the drug store, and seeing everybody excited over the article. Jones came in behind her.

"This is where you come in for a big article in your next week's issue," said Randall, who didn't take any Negro paper, shoving the article under the eyes of the Negro editor.

"I'm afraid Mr. Wyeth has said all I would liked to have said," he replied calmly.

"What!" several cried, in consternation. "Do you mean to say that you would have talked about the best people as this man has!"

"I mean that I would have tried to. I do not consider that I possess the ability to arrange it as he has. You see, his range and vision is beyond mine, which has been confined to the southland. While he has studied every section of the country we call the United States, and he has, as you will observe, written this article in appreciation of that point of view."

"But, great goodness, Jones," cried Randall, very much excited, and likewise forgetting that he did not subscribe for nor advertise in Jones' paper, which was the best Negro paper in the state. Because, he said to everybody but Jones himself, it was N.G., and didn't pay to advertise in it. "See what he has said about our teachers!"

"I have seen it. What of it?"

"It's dreadful—terrible!"

"About the park and library, you mean?"

"Sure!"

"How can you say that—or anything to the contrary, when you know all he has related there is true?"

Randall hesitated embarrassed for a moment, then said: "But he needn't have made such an issue of it!"

"But it's true?"

"Well—yes—of course it's true. But—"

"And about this crime, etc.?"

"Yes—but—"

"He shouldn't have told it where the white people can read it," assisted Jones, grimly. Those about became quiet very quickly, and looked at each other. Jones saw the lay of the land, and took his leave.

"At last, at last!" he cried to himself, as he went up the street, "the turning point has been reached. When I write again of civic conditions in my paper, and show up the fallacies among our own, it'll be read and notice taken of it."

All that day, indignation meetings denouncing the article by Sidney Wyeth, was the order among Effingham's black people. All the week following, it was further denounced. And thus we come to the end of this part of our story.

As for Sidney Wyeth, he left Effingham. He left shortly after writing the article, and went to another city. In that other city, he came back to where he started—that is, something had come back to him which was his dream, when we met him in the beginning of our story.

BOOK III