Attalia

"Heah! Heah! Don't get on that cah!" cried the conductor the following morning, as Sidney Wyeth was climbing aboard the Jim Crow car of the Palm Leaf Limited, bound for Attalia. He backed up and looked about him in some surprise, and than demanded the reason why he shouldn't get aboard that "cah".

"I thought I tole you once we had an extra heavy train, and no colored passengers allowed; but since I see yu', now I see you ain't the same fellah that was here awhile ago." And then, in a few words, he explained that, owing to the rush of people to the south during those first days of January, the Jim Crow section of the train had been dispensed with for that day. He explained further that a second section of the same train would follow shortly. As it would, in all probability, pass them at Lexington, Sidney, with a mumble of thanks, gathered up his grips and returned to the waiting room, catching the same an hour later.

Kentucky soon lay before him. As far as eye could see, a snowy mantle covered the ground, for it was winter. Presently, countless rows of frame buildings appeared. A new brick station, which extended for some length along the track, gave the traveler welcome.

When the train came to a stop, Sidney's attention was arrested by the sight of a creature that may have been called a man, but gave every evidence of being an ape.

"I wonder," said he, to a fellow passenger, "do those things grow 'round here?"

They both enjoyed a laugh.

He was now in a land in which a portion of the people, apparently, possessed little sense of humor, judging from the way his jokes were accepted.

On the car were two women, among the half dozen or so colored passengers. Sidney overheard one of them say to the other:

"I'm from No'th C'lina; but I be'n in Oklahoma two ye's. I'm go'n back home t' stay. Whe' you from?"

"Tennessee, Knoxville. I'm livin' in Bloomington, Illinois, now."

They looked inquiringly in the direction of Wyeth, and presently he was drawn into the conversation. The latter possessed fine sense of humor, and when he found these people so serious, he took delight in joking.

"Whe' you from?" they inquired, with all that is southern and hospitable in their tone.

"From the Rosebud Country, South Dakota," he replied. Their faces were a study. Somewhere in the years gone by they might have heard of that state in school, but the Rosebud Country was Greek to them.

"O-oh," they echoed, and then looked at each other and back at him. Presently one of them inquired: "Where is that?"

"In Africa," he answered, but they did not catch the joke, and to this day, they speak of the man they met from the Dark Continent.

At that moment, the train was crossing a stream over the highest bridge Sidney had ever seen, with possibly one or two exceptions. It seemed a thousand feet to the crystal water below, and every eye was fixed upon it. The porter, a long, lank, laughing creature, scion of the south and some porter, seeing an opportunity to draw attention, rushed up in a Shakesperian pose, and related dramatically, the incident of an intoxicated man, who, while crossing that very stream, fell, of a sudden, smack dab over-board, right into it. In concluding, he looked about him more dramatically than ever, as the many "O-ohs," and "Mys!" greeted his terrible story. And Sidney Wyeth, with eyes wide open, inquired if he got wet.

"Jes' listen at that," they cried in chorus, and the joke was lost.

Down, down the train whirled into the bowels of Dixie. Far away to the east, rising gray and ghostlike above the mists, the pine covered Cumberland Range appeared and reappeared in the distance. Outlined like grim sentinels, the scene, to the hero of this story, recalled the many tragedies of which those mountains were the back-ground. The moon-shiners, the feudists, the hill-billies and the rough-necks, always had a haven there.

The puffing of many, many locomotives, the sight of buildings, and the glare of electric lights gave evidence that they had reached a large city. Chattanooga, city of southern trunk lines, and railroad center, now greeted his eye.

He spent one night there, and the next day, resumed his journey toward that most conspicuous of all southern towns, Attalia. It was a hundred and fifty miles and more by rail. The train became more crowded as it neared his destination, while the people grew more cosmopolitan. One of these, a black man, entered at one of the many stations, and greeted Wyeth pleasantly, inquiring where he was headed for. Wyeth answered Attalia, and his companion became very sociable.

"Understand," said Wyeth, after a moment—the other had possessed himself of a portion of the seat upon which he sat—"that Attalia is one of the best towns in the south, and has one of the finest stations in the country."

"La'gest 'n' finest in the wo'ld," said the other, with a show of pride. He was a resident of the state of which Attalia was the capital, and was, furthermore, a preacher. Wyeth didn't care to argue, so let it be the largest and said:

"That's wonderful! I hear also, that it is a great commercial center as well, and that the city is growing like a mushroom."

"Oh, yeh," said he. "Out-side Noo Yo'k, it's the busiest and best town in the United States. Yes, yeh," he went on thoughtfully, "Attalia is sho a mighty city. Eve' been theah?"

"Not for more than ten years," replied Sidney.

"Indeed! Well, well, I mus' say you'll ha'dly recognize it as the same."

They were now approaching the embryo city. Clouds of smoke, and the whistling of innumerable locomotives filled the air. Wyeth began making preparation to leave the train, when the other touched him, saying: "No hurry, my deah suh, no hurry. Be's a long time yet befo' we 'rives in de station, be's a long time yet."

"Well, well!" the other exclaimed, in some surprise.

"Oh, Attalia's a mighty city, a great city. Wait until you see Plum street 'n' the sky-scrapers."

Meanwhile the train had arrived, and stood outside the station, through which it had just passed. It was indeed a large and imposing structure. As it rose behind them, under the bright sunlight, with its many cornices glittering as so many diamonds, it was truly a city pride. From where the train stood, the city lay like a great scroll, and vanished in the distance. Smoke and dust filled the air, and hovered over the medley of buildings like a dull, red cloud. Rising in uncertain lines, as if to escape the gloom, a line of sky-scrapers appeared in the background. "Those must be on Plum street," mused Sidney, as he looked about for a conveyance.

Besides being the capital of the state, and the greatest commercial city southeast of the Mississippi, Attalia is the city of conventions, the southern center for insurance, a progressive journalistic city, and a uniform town. It is also a center for the education of Negroes, since it has a number of colleges supported by northern philanthropy. Yet the city is unable to maintain a proficient and complete course of education for its many colored children. Unfortunately for the Negroes, when the white schools are amply provided for, not enough is left for the proper training of its black population, which constitutes one-third of the whole.

Sidney did not fail to take note of the fact, as he passed through the station, that, contrary to previous reports, the colored waiting room was cleanly kept, almost as well as that of the white race. White-coated flunkies flitted about nimbly in prompt attention to the weary traveler, in spite of an air of sleepiness.

Presently, Wyeth made inquiry regarding conveyance. No sooner had he done so, than he was deluged with solicitations from a score or more cabmen, who seemed literally to raise out of the floor. They would take him in jig-time anywhere he wanted to go.

"But that's it," he said in a confused tone. "I don't know exactly where I want to go."

"Deed, suh, I c'n take yu' any wha', jes' any wha' 'f you'll jes' name de place."

Not being able, apparently, to make him understand that he was a stranger, unacquainted with the city, he presently settled on the charge, bundled in, and ordered to be taken to the best colored neighborhood, and in a few minutes he was being trundled on his way.

They turned into a street, after a block or two, that happened to be one end of the leading business thoroughfare. On a corner post, Sidney read Walthill. The cab took him up this street, surrounded on either side with the many busy shops and people, and it continued until a viaduct was reached. Attalia's broadway was just ahead. It was a wide street, and yet not wide enough. It had been made wider recently, and in making it so, the sidewalks had perforce been made narrower. They had not been sufficiently wide before, and now this threw many pedestrians into the street, where they walked along much slower than in Cincinnati even. As the cab rolled along, Sidney observed that the street was considerably wider after some distance, and this was the business section. To the right and to the left, in fact in every direction, buildings, brick and stone, concrete, stucco and an occasional frame, stood, here low, there high, and still higher, even to twenty stories. As he looked, the setting sun played subtly about the topmost peaks. Presently, the cab turned into Audubon Avenue.

This street sloped down hill for many blocks, and when the cab had made its abrupt turn further on, Sidney observed a large, red, brick building with stone cornices rising skyward. Adjoining this, he caught a glimpse of the outline of still another building, apparently unfinished. Strangely enough, he felt this to be the property of black people. On down the street the cab rolled.

It was a street quite wide enough, and paved in part with cobble stones, and further on with asphalt. Glancing from right to left, as he proceeded, he saw that it was given over largely to business conducted by Negroes, Jews, Italians and Greeks.

Presently, his wandering gaze took in the proportions of a small book shop, before which stood a tall, lean Negro, whom he surmised rightly to be the proprietor. In the window, displayed conspicuously and artistically, were numerous books by Negro authors which he had read, and, of course, some he had not.

And still he was trundled on. His gaze met the sight of a mammoth stone church, where he saw many colored men standing about the front. Some were brown, while others were yellow, and still others were almost white. They were preachers, he knew, for all were fat. Only preachers were always so, he recalled, and that's why he knew. Across another street and on the same side, they came abreast of the structure that had arrested his attention before. The first portion rose to only two stories, but was so artistically constructed, that it caught his attention, and commanded his admiration. Next to this, the other portion reached to six stories, and, as he came to the front, he viewed it very carefully. On one side of a wide entry, over which was written many words which he could not decipher, was a first class barber shop where black men were being shaved. On the other side, a bank occupied much space, and this, he observed, for the first time in his life, was conducted by black people—no, they were between and betwixt, but that does not matter, they belonged to that race. At the rear he saw elevators moving to and fro, while the entry was filled with these same folk. His bosom swelled at the sight, for he was proud of his people.

"Heah's a place you might look ovah, deah brudder," said the cabman at last, as he halted before an old frame structure, across the front of which was written in large letters

THE BIXLEY HOUSE

Sidney was not favorably impressed.

"How you lak it?" asked the cabman.

"Nix," he replied. "Try another."

The horse was turned about, and they journeyed back over the same street from whence they had come. Two blocks were thus covered, and then they turned into a street that intersected, and stopped before another place less impressive looking. At this point, the cabman suggested a lady friend of his, who kept nice rooms, and to this he was straightway driven. He was satisfied at last, paid his fee, and in due time was fairly well installed.

Sometime later, Sidney went forth on a tour of inspection. The first place he decided to visit was the book store, where he had seen the serious looking man at the front. He turned out to be so, very much so, as Sidney learned in after months. His name was Tompkins, and he was very affable, even pleasant.

"A-hem. Glad to know you, Mr. Wyeth," he said, accepting the introduction. When Sidney stated the nature of his business, he answered his many questions very pompously, and further said, that the colored people of the city had an inclination for literature.

Sidney, however, began to feel, after more questioning, that Tompkins was stretching things, and that his statement, that the colored people were great readers, was largely exaggerated. It was, as we shall see later; but for the present, he thanked Tompkins, and promised to drop in again.

When he had dined at one of the many little restaurants, he wandered back into the business section of the city. He failed to recognize any of the places he had once known, which proved conclusively that Attalia had progressed. He found himself on Plum street again, through which he walked and reentered Walthill, and, after seeing many of the sights, entered a large book store, where he inquired for a volume he had long desired to read—rather, he inquired of a large, fat man, whether he had it. The other looked around a spell, then replied:

"We sho God has," and stood waiting undecidedly. Presently he held it toward Wyeth, who, somewhat hesitatingly, looked irrelevantly through the pages. He was not sure, whether it was customary to take it in his hands.

"All right," he said, and reached in his pocket for the money.

"Do you-ah—wish it?" the other inquired, still hesitating.

"Sure," Sidney replied. "That's why I called for it." He was obviously surprised, and expressed the fact in his eyes. The other observed this, and made haste to apologize:

"Ce'tainly, ce'tainly. Beg yo' pa'don. Not many cullud people buy works of fiction, or anything besides an occasional Bible, school books and stationery. That is why I was undecided whether you wanted to buy it or not."

"Indeed!" echoed Sidney, taken suddenly aback. Then said: "I read a great deal myself."

The clerk observed him closely for a moment, and then said: "You don't live in these parts?"

"No."

"And you read a great deal? Where are you from?"

He was told.

"That accounts for it," said the other, proceeding to wrap up the book.

"Accounts for what?" curiously.

"Your being a reader."

"I don't understand.... Don't the colored people down here read a great deal also?"

"No," said the other simply.

"Well, I declare!" said Sidney in surprise. "I have only two hours or less ago, been told by a book-seller that they do."

"Lordy me! Who told you that?"

"Tompkins. The—"

"Tompkins is a booster. He's all right, though," said the other, with a low, amused laugh. But Sidney's curiosity was aroused, and he continued:

"There's a multitude of teachers and preachers, and I should think they would buy lots of current literature to keep themselves informed for their work; but perhaps they are not so well paid, and get it from the library." The other appeared perplexed for a moment, but said presently, without looking up:

"They have no library of their own, and the city library is not open to colored people, but they do not seem to be very anxious for books. The teachers, and the preachers—" He threw up his hands in a gesture of despair. "You'll find out for yourself. You are, I see, a keen observer, and you'll find out."

Sidney left the store in a reflective frame of mind. "I didn't believe Tompkins," he muttered, as he walked back in the direction of Audubon Avenue. Just then he glanced to his left, into the largest barber shop he had ever seen. It was for white people, but conducted by a colored man. It was not only the largest he had ever seen, but the finest, the most artistic. He forgot, for the time, what he had just been told, and which was causing him some concern, and again he felt his breast swell.

There was much to be learned about his people that he now realized he did not know; and yet, surrounding it all was a peculiar mystery that he decided to solve for himself. He did so, but that remains to be told.