_Twenty-four_
THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN
Miss Caroline Wynn of Washington had little faith in the world and itspeople. Nor was this wholly her fault. The world had dealt cruelly withthe young dreams and youthful ambitions of the girl; partly with itsusual heartlessness, partly with that cynical and deadening reserve fundwhich it has today for its darker peoples. The girl had bitterlyresented her experiences at first: she was brilliant and well-trained;she had a real talent for sculpture, and had studied considerably; shewas sprung from at least three generations of respectable mulattoes, whohad left a little competence which yielded her three or four hundreddollars a year. Furthermore, while not precisely pretty, she wasgood-looking and interesting, and she had acquired the marks andinsignia of good breeding. Perhaps she wore her manners just a trifleconsciously; perhaps she was a little morbid that she would fail ofrecognition as a lady. Nor was this unnatural: her brown skin invited adifferent assumption. Despite this almost unconscious mentalaggressiveness, she was unusually presentable and always well-groomedand pleasant of speech. Yet she found nearly all careers closed to her.At first it seemed accidental, the luck of life. Then she attributed itto her sex; but at last she was sure that, beyond chance and womanhood,it was the colorline that was hemming her in. Once convinced of this,she let her imagination play and saw the line even where it did notexist.
With her bit of property and brilliant parts she had had many suitorsbut they had been refused one after another for reasons she could hardlyhave explained. For years now Tom Teerswell had been her escort. Whetheror not Caroline Wynn would every marry him was a perennial subject ofspeculation among their friends and it usually ended in the verdict thatshe could not afford it--that it was financially impossible.
Nevertheless, the two were usually seen in public together, and althoughshe often showed her quiet mastery of the situation, seldom had shesnubbed him so openly as at the Treble Clef concert.
Teerswell was furious and began to plot vengeance; but Miss Wynn wasattracted by the personality of Bles Alwyn. Southern country Negroeswere rare in her set, but here was a man of intelligence and keennesscoupled with an amazing frankness and modesty, and perceptibly shadowedby sorrow. The combination was, so far as she had observed, both rareand temporary and she was disposed to watch it in this case purely as amatter of intellectual curiosity. At the door of her home, therefore,after a walk of unusual interest, she said:
"I'm going to have a few friends in next Tuesday night; won't you come,Mr. Alwyn?" And Mr. Alwyn said that he would.
Next morning Miss Wynn rather repented her hasty invitation, but ofcourse nothing could be done now. Nothing? Well, there was one thing;and she went to the telephone. A suggestion to Bles that he mightprofitably extend his acquaintance sent him to a certain tailor shopkept by a friend of hers; a word to the tailor guarded against the leastsuspicion of intrigue entering Bles's head.
It turned out quite as Miss Wynn had designed; Mr. Grey, the tailor,gave Bles some points on dressing, and made him, Southern fashion, afrock-coat for dress wear that set off his fine figure. On the night ofthe gathering at Miss Wynn's Bles dressed with care, hesitating longover a necktie, but at last choosing one which he had recently purchasedand which pleased him particularly. He was prompt to the minute and wasconsequently the first guest; but Miss Wynn's greeting was so quietlycordial that his embarrassment soon fled. She looked him over at leisureand sighed at his tie; otherwise he was thoroughly presentable accordingto the strictest Washington standard.
They sat down and talked of generalities. Then an idea occurring to her,she conducted the conversation by devious paths to ties and asked Alwynif he had heard of the fad of collecting ties. He had not, and sheshowed him a sofa pillow.
"Your tie quite attracted me," she said; "it would make just the dash ofcolor I need in my new pillow."
"You may have it and welcome. I'll send--"
"Oh, no! A bird in the hand, you know. I'll trade with you now foranother I have."
"Done!"
The exchange was soon made, Miss Wynn tying the new one herself andsticking a small carved pin in it. Bles slowly sat down again, and aftera pause said, "Thank you."
She looked up quickly, but he seemed quite serious and good-natured.
"You see," he explained, "in the country we don't know much about ties."
The well-balanced Miss Wynn for a moment lost her aplomb, but only for amoment.
"We must all learn," she replied with penetration, and so theirfriendship was established.
The company now began to gather, and soon the double parlor held anassemblage of twenty-five or thirty persons. They formed a picturesquegroup: conventional but graceful in dress; animated in movement; full ofgood-natured laughter, but quite un-American in the beautiful modulationof their speaking tones; chiefly noticeable, however, to a stranger, inthe vast variety of color in skin, which imparted to the throng apiquant and unusual interest. Every color was here; from the dark brownof Alwyn, who was customarily accounted black, to the pale pink-white ofMiss Jones, who could "pass for white" when she would, and found hergreatest difficulties when she was trying to "pass" for black. Midwaybetween these two extremes lay the sallow pastor of the church, thecreamy Miss Williams, the golden yellow of Mr. Teerswell, the goldenbrown of Miss Johnson, and the velvet brown of Mr. Grey. The guestthemselves did not notice this; they were used to asking one's color asone asks of height and weight; it was simply an extra dimension in theirworld whereby to classify men.
Beyond this and their hair, there was little to distinguish them from amodern group of men and women. The speech was a softened English, purelyand, on the whole, correctly spoken--so much so that it seemed at firstalmost unfamiliar to Bles, and he experienced again the uncomfortablefeeling of being among strangers. Then, too, he missed the loud buthearty good-nature of what he had always called "his people." To besure, a more experienced observer might have noted a lively, excitabletropical temperament set and cast in a cold Northern mould, and yetflashing fire now and then in a sudden anomalous out-bursting. But Blesmissed this; he seemed to have slipped and lost his bearings, and thecharacteristics of his simple world were rolling curiously about. Herestood a black man with a white man's voice, and yonder a white womanwith a Negro's musical cadences; and yet again, a brown girl withexactly Miss Cresswell's air, and yonder, Miss Williams, with Zora'swistful willfulness.
Bles was bewildered and silent, and his great undying sorrow sank on hisheart with sickening hopeless weight. His hands got in the way and hefound no natural nook in all those wide and tastefully furnished rooms.Once he discovered himself standing by a marble statue of a nude woman,and he edged away; then he stumbled over a rug and saved himself only tostep on Miss Jones's silken train. Miss Jones's smile of pardon waswintry. When he did approach a group and listen, they seemed speaking ofthings foreign to him--usually of people he did not know, their homes,their doings, their daughters and their fathers. They seemed to knowpeople intimately who lived far away.
"You mean the Smiths of Boston?" asked Miss Jones.
"No, of Cleveland. They're not related."
"I heard that McGhee of St. Paul will be in the city next week with hisdaughter."
"Yes, and the Bentleys of Chicago."
Bles passed on. He was disappointed. He was full of things to say, ofmighty matters to discuss; he felt like stopping these people andcrying: "Ho! What of the morning? How goes the great battle for blackmen's rights? I have came with messages from the host, to you who guardthe mountain tops."
Apparently they were not discussing or caring about "the Problem." Hegrew disgusted and was edging toward the door when he encountered hishostess.
"Is all well with you, Mr. Alwyn?" she asked lightly.
"No, I'm not enjoying myself," said Bles, truthfully.
"Delicious! And why not?"
He regarded her earnestly.
"There are so many things to talk about," he said; "earnest things;things of importance. I-
-I think when our people--" he hesitated.Our?--was _our_ right? But he went on: "When our people meet we oughtto talk of our situation, and what to do and--"
Miss Wynn continued to smile.
"We're all talking of it all the time," she said.
He looked incredulous.
"Yes, we are," she insisted. "We veil it a little, and laugh as lightlyas we can; but there is only one thought in this room, and that's graveand serious enough to suit even you, and quite your daily topic."
"But I don't understand."
"Ah, there's the rub. You haven't learned our language yet. We don'tjust blurt into the Negro Problem; that's voted bad form. We leave thatto our white friends. We saunter to it sideways, touch it delicatelybecause"--her face became a little graver--"because, you see, it hurts."
Bles stood thoughtful and abashed.
"I--I think I understand," he gravely said at last.
"Come here," she said with a sudden turn, and they joined an absorbedgroup in the midst of a conversation.
"--Thinking of sending Jessie to Bryn Mawr," Bles heard Miss Jonessaying.
"Could she pass?"
"Oh, they might think her Spanish."
"But it's a snobbish place and she would have to give up all herfriends."
"Yes, Freddie could scarcely visit--" the rest was lost.
"Which, being interpreted," whispered Miss Wynn, "means that Bryn Mawrdraws the color line while we at times surmount it."
They moved on to another group.
"--Splendid draughtsman," a man was saying, "and passed at the head ofthe crowd; but, of course, he has no chance."
"Why, it's civil-service, isn't it?"
"It is. But what of that? There was Watson--"
Miss Wynn did not pause. She whispered: "This is the tale of CivilService Reform, and how this mighty government gets rid of black menwho know too much."
"But--" Bles tried to protest.
"Hush," Miss Wynn commanded and they joined the group about the piano.Teerswell, who was speaking, affected not to notice them, and continued:
"--I tell you, it's got to come. We must act independently and not bebought by a few offices."
"That's all well enough for you to talk, Teerswell; you have no wife andbabies dependant on you. Why should we who have sacrifice the substancefor the shadow?"
"You see, the Judge has got the substance," laughed Teerswell. "Still Iinsist: divide and conquer."
"Nonsense! Unite, and keep."
Bles was puzzled.
"They're talking of the coming campaign," said Miss Wynn.
"What!" exclaimed Bles aloud. "You don't mean that any one can advise ablack man to vote the Democratic ticket?"
An elderly man turned to them.
"Thank you, sir," he said; "that is just my attitude; I fought for myfreedom. I know what slavery is; may I forget God when I vote fortraitors and slave-holders."
The discussion waxed warm and Miss Wynn turned away and sought MissJones.
"Come, my dear," she said, "it's 'The Problem' again." They saunteredaway toward a ring of laughter.
The discussion thus begun at Miss Wynn's did not end there. It was onthe eve of the great party conventions, and the next night Sam Stillingscame around to get some crumbs from this assembly of the inner circle,into which Alwyn had been so unaccountably snatched, and outside ofwhich, despite his endeavors, Stillings lingered and seemed destined tolinger. But Stillings was a patient, resolute man beneath hisdeferential exterior, and he saw in Bles a stepping stone. So he beganto drop in at his lodgings and tonight invited him to the BethelLiterary.
"What's that?" asked Bles.
"A debating club--oldest in the city; the best people all attend."
Bles hesitated. He had half made up his mind that this was the propertime to call on Miss Wynn. He told Stillings so, and told him also ofthe evening and the discussion.
"Why, that's the subject up tonight," Stillings declared, "and Miss Wynnwill be sure to be there. You can make your call later. Perhaps youwouldn't mind taking me when you call." Alwyn reached for his hat.
When they arrived, the basement of the great church was filling with athrong of men and women. Soon the officers and the speaker of theevening appeared. The president was a brown woman who spoke easily andwell, and introduced the main speaker. He was a tall, thin,hatchet-faced black man, clean shaven and well dressed, a lawyer byprofession. His theme was "The Democratic Party and the Negro." Hisargument was cool, carefully reasoned, and plausible. He was evidentlyfeeling for the sympathy of his audience, and while they were notenthusiastic, they warmed to him gradually and he certainly was stronglyimpressing them.
Bles was thinking. He sat in the back of the hall, tense, alert,nervous. As the speaker progressed a white man came in and sat downbeside him. He was spectacled, with bushy eyebrows and a sleepy look.But he did not sleep. He was very observant.
"Who's speaking?" he asked Bles, and Bles told him. Then he inquiredabout one or two other persons. Bles could not inform him, but Stillingscould and did. Stillings seemed willing to devote considerable time tohim.
Bles forgot the man. He was almost crouching for a spring, and no soonerhad the speaker, with a really fine apostrophe to independence andreason in voting, sat down, than Bles was on his feet, walking forward.His form was commanding, his voice deep and musical, and hisearnestness terribly evident. He hardly waited for recognition from theslightly astonished president, but fairly burst into speech.
"I am from Alabama," he began earnestly, "and I know the DemocraticParty." Then he told of government and conditions in the Black Belt, ofthe lying, oppression, and helplessness of the sodden black masses;then, turning, he reminded them of the history of slavery. Finally, hepointed to Lincoln's picture and to Sumner's and mentioned other whitefriends.
"And, my brothers, they are not all dead yet. The gentleman spoke ofSenator Smith and blamed and ridiculed him. I know Senator Smith butslightly, but I do know his sister well."
Dropping to simple narrative, he told of Miss Smith and of his coming toschool; and if his audience felt that great depth of emotion that welledbeneath his quiet, almost hesitating, address, it was not simply becauseof what he did say, but because, too, of the unspoken story that lay toodeep for words. He spoke for nearly an hour, and when he stopped, for amoment his hearers sighed and then sprang into a whirlwind of applause.They shouted, clapped, and waved while he sat in blank amazement, andwas with difficulty forced to the rostrum to bow again and again. Thespectacled white man leaned over to Stillings.
"Who is he?" he asked. Stillings told him. The man noted the name andwent quietly out.
Miss Wynn sat lost in thought, and Teerswell beside her fumed. She wasnot easily moved, but that speech had moved her. If he could thus stirmen and not be himself swayed, she mused, he would be--invincible. Buttonight he was moved as greatly as his hearers had been, and that wasdangerous. If his intense belief happened to be popular, all right; butif not? She frowned. He was worth watching, she concluded; quite worthwatching, and perhaps worth guiding.
When Alwyn accompanied her home that night, Miss Wynn set herself toknow him better for she suspected that he might be a coming man. Thebest preliminary to her purpose was, she knew, to speak frankly ofherself, and that she did. She told him of her youth and training, herambitions, her disappointments. Quite unconsciously her cynicism creptto the fore, until in word and tone she had almost scoffed at manythings that Alwyn held true and dear. The touch was too light, themeaning too elusive, for Alwyn to grasp always the point of attack; butsomehow he got the distant impression that Miss Wynn had little faith inTruth and Goodness and Love. Vaguely shocked he grew so silent that shenoticed it and concluded she had said too much. But he pursued thesubject.
"Surely there must be many friends of our race willing to stand for theright and sacrifice for it?"
She laughed unpleasantly, almost mockingly.
"Where?"
"Well--there's Miss Smith."
"She gets a salary, doesn't she?"
"A very small one."
"About as large as she could earn. North, I don't doubt."
"But the unselfish work she does--the utter sacrifice?"
"Oh, well, we'll omit Alabama, and admit the exception."
"Well, here, in Washington--there's your friend, the Judge, who hasbefriended you so, as you admit."
She laughed again.
"You remember our visit to Senator Smith?"
"Yes."
"Well, it got the Judge his reappointment to the school board."
"He deserved it, didn't he?"
"I deserved it," she said luxuriously, hugging her knee and smiling;"you see, his appointment meant mine."
"Well, what of it--didn't--"
"Listen," she cut in a little sharply. "Once a young brown girl, withboundless faith in white folks, went to a Judge's office to ask for anappointment which she deserved. There was no one there. The benign oldJudge with his saintly face and white hair suggested that she lay asideher wraps and spend the afternoon."
Bles arose to his feet.
"What--what did you do?" he asked.
"Sit down--there's a good boy." I said: "'Judge, a friend is expectingme at two,' it was then half-past one, 'would I not best telephone?'"
"'Step right into the booth,' said the Judge, quite indulgently." MissWynn leaned back, and Bles felt his heart sinking; but he said nothing."And then," she continued, "I telephoned the Judge's wife that he wasanxious to see her on a matter of urgent business; namely, myappointment." She gazed reflectively out of the window. "You should haveseen his face when I told him," she concluded. "I was appointed."
But Bles asked coldly:
"Why didn't you have him arrested?"
"For what? And suppose I had?"
Bles threw out his arms helplessly.
"Oh! it isn't as bad as that all over the world, is it?"
"It's worse," affirmed Miss Wynn, quietly positive.
"And you are still friendly with him?"
"What would you have? I use the world; I did not make it; I did notchoose it. He is the world. Through him I earn my bread and butter. Ihave shown him his place. Shall I try in addition to reform? Shall Imake him an enemy? I have neither time nor inclination. Shall I resignand beg, or go tilting at windmills? If he were the only one it would bedifferent; but they're all alike." Her face grew hard. "Have I shockedyou?" she said as they went toward the door.
"No," he answered slowly. "But I still--believe in the world."
"You are young yet, my friend," she lightly replied. "And besides, thatgood Miss Smith has gone and grafted a New England conscience on atropical heart, and--dear me!--but it's a gorgeous misfit.Good-bye--come again." She bowed him graciously out, and paused to takethe mail from the box. There was, among many others, a letter fromSenator Smith.
The Quest of the Silver Fleece: A Novel Page 25