"I Love You!" She Said

Miss Annie Palmer had about despaired of winning Sidney Wyeth, and by this time was not nearly so considerate when he called, as she had been some weeks before. And, besides, Wyeth had an insistent way of seeing things, which was not the custom of her friends. When he called, sometimes, instead of giving up to the easier things in life, and which concerned the select few, he was liable to bring up a subject concerning the future of the Negro of the south, as he is today, etc., etc., etc. So it came to pass, that Miss Palmer was only good at times; and at those times, she was liable to be good by fits and starts, and then she "got cranky." Notwithstanding the fact, they were still friends, nothing more, and, as Miss Palmer sometimes sighed to herself, "Will never be anything more."

"You were, I thought," she declared one day, "the sweetest kind of a boy. But of late you are so concerned about Y.M.C.A.'s, and libraries, and schools, and the like, for our people, and how many are being killed and all that, that I am sometimes serious in my belief that you are losing your mind."

"I came to show you the article in The Herald, by the park commissioner, with regard to the establishing of a park for Negroes. I suppose you have read it? I am certainly glad to know that you have white people in your city, who are showing some interest in the civic welfare of our race; and from what he has suggested, with regard to this park for our people, to be centrally located, there is conclusive evidence, that the white people are coming to appreciate that the evolution of these black people can be brought about otherwise than in the chain gang."

"Please don't today, Mr. Wyeth, please don't," she begged. "Promise just once that you will try to be, if it's only for a minute, as you were when I became acquainted with you. Let's drop this matter about the park and all that today. These Negroes here would do nothing with a park but fight in it. And a library, they don't read; so what's the use." She came to him, and before he could say a word in protest, she had gotten on the davenport, and beside him very closely. In that moment, Miss Palmer felt that she wanted to hear him say something about her.

"Listen," she said, in a voice that was full of feigned passion. "Do you care for me?" It was so sudden that he did not know how to accept it, whether as a joke or serious. He had, of late, been backing up on the flirtation. However, she was evidently serious, so, with a jolly word, he talked with her at some length about nothing. Presently she became meditative. She spoke of her unhappy life with a sigh, and then fell to accounts regarding her little boy.

"My entire hope is centered in him. I intend to make a doctor out of him, and to do that, I will have to work hard and save money to put him through school when he is grown up, and you see what that will call for."

He was a lad of ten years, and the image of his mother. The future of the American Negro was bright in his eyes; and he assisted commerce to a degree, by consuming as much coca cola as he could buy, with as many nickels as he could gather; likewise, peanuts, crackerjack and candies.

"He's some boy," glowed Wyeth, enthusiastically. "I wish I possessed a lad like him. I would feel proud."

"Wouldn't you like to have something to do with him?" she said, and he replied jokingly:

"Sure."

She nestled close, very close. So close that he felt her hot breath upon his cheek. "You do care for me a little, don't you?" she almost implored. He was embarrassed, but replied:

"Of course, I like you."

"I love you," she said. "I love you," she said again.

"Ooh, mamma!" cried her son, at that moment. "Come and see the funny man coming down the street. Ooh, but he is so funny!" She moved away guiltily. A moment later, he arose and took his leave.