The Quest of the Silver Fleece by W. E. B. Du Bois

W >> W. E. B. Du Bois >> The Quest of the Silver Fleece

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

Mr. Smith listened but shook his head.

"When the time comes," he announced deliberately, "I shall have
something to say on several of these matters. At present I can only say
that I cannot support this bill," and Mr. Todd was ushered out. He met
Mr. Easterly coming in and greeted him effusively. He knew him only as a
rich philanthropist, who had helped the Neighborhood Guild in
Washington--one of Todd's hobbies.

Easterly greeted Smith quietly.

"Got my letter?"

"Yes."

"Here are the three bills. You will go on the Finance Committee
tomorrow; Sumdrich is chairman by courtesy, but you'll have the real
power. Put the Child Labor Bill first, and we'll work the press. The
Tariff will take most of the session, of course. We'll put the cotton
inspection bill through in the last days of the session--see? I'm
manoeuvring to get the Southern Congressmen into line.... Oh, one thing.
Thompson says he's a little worried about the Negroes; says there's
something more than froth in the talk of a bolt in the Northern Negro
vote. We may have to give them a little extra money and a few more minor
offices than usual. Talk with Thompson; the Negroes are sweet on you and
he's going to be the new chairman of the campaign, you know. Ever met
him?"

"Yes."

"Well--so long."

"Just a moment," the statesman stayed the financier.

"Todd just let fall something of a combination against us in
Congress--know anything of it?"

"Not definitely; I heard some rumors. Better see if you can run it down.
Well, I must hurry--good day."

While Bles Alwyn in the outer office was waiting and musing, a lady
came in. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the curve of her gown,
and as she seated herself beside him, the suggestion of a faint perfume.
A vague resentment rose in him. Colored women would look as well as
that, he argued, with the clothes and wealth and training. He paused,
however, in his thought: he did not want them like the whites--so cold
and formal and precise, without heart or marrow. He started up, for the
secretary was speaking to him.

"Are you the--er--the man who had a letter to the Senator?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let me see it. Oh, yes--he will see you in a moment."

Bles was returning the letter to his pocket when he heard a voice almost
at his ear.

"I beg your pardon--"

He turned and started. It was the lady next to him, and she was colored!
Not extremely colored, but undoubtedly colored, with waving black hair,
light brown skin, and the fuller facial curving of the darker world. And
yet Bles was surprised, for everything else about her--her voice, her
bearing, the set of her gown, her gloves and shoes, the whole impression
was--Bles hesitated for a word--well, "white."

"Yes--yes, ma'am," he stammered, becoming suddenly conscious that the
lady had now a second time asked him if he was acquainted with Senator
Smith. "That is, ma'am,"--why was he saying "ma'am," like a child or a
servant?--"I know his sister and have a letter for him."

"Do you live in Washington?" she inquired.

"No--but I want to. I've been trying to get in as a clerk, and I haven't
succeeded yet. That's what I'm going to see Senator Smith about."

"Have you had the civil-service examinations?"

"Yes. I made ninety-three in the examination for a treasury clerkship."

"And no appointment? I see--they are not partial to us there."

Bles was glad to hear her say "us."

She continued after a pause:

"May I venture to ask a favor of you?"

"Certainly," he responded.

"My name is Wynn," lowering her voice slightly and leaning toward him.
"There are so many ahead of me and I am in a hurry to get to my school;
but I must see the Senator--couldn't I go in with you? I think I might
be of service in this matter of the examination, and then perhaps I'd
get a chance to say a word for myself."

"I'd be very glad to have you come," said Bles, cordially.

The secretary hesitated a little when the two started in, but Miss
Wynn's air was so quietly assured that he yielded.

Senator Smith looked at the tall, straight black man with his smooth
skin and frank eyes. And for a second time that morning a vision of his
own youth dimmed his eyes. But he spoke coldly:

"Mr. Alwyn, I believe."

"Yes, sir."

"And--"

"My friend, Miss Wynn."

The Senator glanced at Miss Wynn and she bowed demurely. Then he turned
to Alwyn.

"Well, Mr. Alwyn, Washington is a bad place to start in the world."

Bles looked surprised and incredulous. He could conceive of no finer
starting-place, but he said nothing.

"It is a grave," continued the Senator, "of ambitions and ideals. You
would far better go back to Alabama"--pausing and looking at the young
man keenly--"but you won't--you won't--not yet, at any rate." And Bles
shook his head slowly.

"No--well, what can I do for you?"

"I want work--I'll do anything."

"No, you'll do one thing--be a clerk, and then if you have the right
stuff in you you will throw up that job in a year and start again."

"I'd like at least to try it, sir."

"Well, I can't help you much there; that's in civil-service, and you
must take the examination."

"I have, sir."

"So? Where, and what mark?"

"In the Treasury Department; I got a mark of ninety-three."

"What!--and no appointment?" The Senator was incredulous.

"No, sir; not yet."

Here Miss Wynn interposed.

"You see, Senator," she said, "civil-service rules are not always
impervious to race prejudice."

The Senator frowned.

"Do you mean to intimate that Mr. Alwyn's appointment is held up because
he is colored?"

"I do."

"Well--well!" The Senator rang for a clerk.

"Get me the Treasury on the telephone."

In a moment the bell rang.

"I want Mr. Cole. Is that you, Mr. Cole? Good-morning. Have you a young
man named Alwyn on your eligible list? What? Yes?" A pause. "Indeed?
Well, why has he no appointment? Of course, I know, he's a Negro. Yes, I
desire it very much--thank you."

"You'll get an appointment to-morrow morning," and the Senator rose.
"How is my sister?" he asked absently.

"She was looking worried, but hopeful of the new endowment when I left."
The Senator held out his hand; Bles took it and then remembered.

"Oh, I beg pardon, but Miss Wynn wanted a word on another matter."

The Senator turned to Miss Wynn.

"I am a school-teacher, Senator Smith, and like all the rest of us I am
deeply interested in the appointment of the new school-board."

"But you know the district committee attends to those things," said the
Senator hastily. "And then, too, I believe there is talk of abolishing
the school-board and concentrating power in the hands of the
superintendent."

"Precisely," said Miss Wynn. "And I came to tell you, Senator Smith,
that the interests which are back of this attack upon the schools are no
friends of yours." Miss Wynn extracted from her reticule a typewritten
paper.

He took the paper and read it intently. Then he keenly scrutinized the
young woman, and she steadily returned his regard.

"How am I to know this is true?"

"Follow it up and see."

He mused.

"Where did you get these facts?" he asked suddenly.

She smiled.

"It is hardly necessary to say."

"And yet," he persisted, "if I were sure of its source I would know my
ground better and--my obligation to you would be greater."

She laughed and glanced toward Alwyn. He had moved out of earshot and
was waiting by the window.

"I am a teacher in the M Street High School," she said, "and we have
some intelligent boys there who work their way through."

"Yes," said the Senator.

"Some," continued Miss Wynn, tapping her boot on the carpet, "some--wait
on table."

The Senator slowly put the paper in his pocket.

"And now," he said, "Miss Wynn, what can I do for you?"

She looked at him.

"If Judge Haynes is reappointed to the school-board I shall probably
continue to teach in the M Street High School," she said slowly.

The Senator made a memorandum and said:

"I shall not forget Miss Wynn--nor her friends." And he bowed, glancing
at Alwyn.

The woman contemplated Bles in momentary perplexity, then bowing in
turn, left. Bles followed, debating just what he ought to say, how far
he might venture to accompany her, what--but she easily settled it all.

"I thank you--good-bye," she said briefly at the door, and was gone.
Bles did not know whether to feel relieved or provoked, or disappointed,
and by way of compromise felt something of all three.

The next morning he received notice of his appointment to a clerkship in
the Treasury Department, at a salary of nine hundred dollars. The sum
seemed fabulous and he was in the seventh heaven. For many days the
consciousness of wealth, the new duties, the street scenes, and the city
life kept him more than busy. He planned to study, and arranged with a
professor at Howard University to guide him. He bought an armful of
books and a desk, and plunged desperately to work.

Gradually as he became used to the office routine, and in the hours when
he was weary of study, he began to find time hanging a little heavily on
his hands; indeed--although he would not acknowledge it--he was getting
lonesome, homesick, amid the myriad men of a busy city. He argued to
himself that this was absurd, and yet he knew that he was longing for
human companionship. When he looked about him for fellowship he found
himself in a strange dilemma: those black folk in whom he recognized the
old sweet-tempered Negro traits, had also looser, uglier manners than he
was accustomed to, from which he shrank. The upper classes of Negroes,
on the other hand, he still observed from afar; they were strangers not
only in acquaintance but because of a curious coldness and aloofness
that made them cease to seem his own kind; they seemed almost at times
like black white people--strangers in way and thought.

He tried to shake off this feeling but it clung, and at last in sheer
desperation, he promised to go out of a night with a fellow clerk who
rather boasted of the "people" he knew. He was soon tired of the
strange company, and had turned to go home, when he met a newcomer in
the doorway.

"Why, hello, Sam! Sam Stillings!" he exclaimed delightedly, and was soon
grasping the hand of a slim, well-dressed man of perhaps thirty, with
yellow face, curling hair, and shifting eyes.

"Well, of all things, Bles--er--ah--Mr. Alwyn! Thought you were hoeing
cotton."

Bles laughed and continued shaking his head. He was foolishly glad to
see the former Cresswell butler, whom he had known but slightly. His
face brought back unuttered things that made his heart beat faster and a
yearning surge within him.

"I thought you went to Chicago," cried Bles.

"I did, but goin' into politics--having entered the political field, I
came here. And you graduated, I suppose, and all that?"

"No," Bless admitted a little sadly, as he told of his coming north, and
of Senator Smith's influence. "But--but how are--all?"

Abruptly Sam hooked his arm into Alwyn's and pulled him with him down
the street. Stillings was a type. Up from servility and menial service
he was struggling to climb to money and power. He was shrewd, willing to
stoop to anything in order to win. The very slights and humiliations of
prejudice he turned to his advantage. When he learned all the
particulars of Alwyn's visit to Senator Smith and his cordial reception
he judged it best to keep in touch with this young man, and he forthwith
invited Bles to accompany him the next night to the Fifteenth Street
Presbyterian Church.

"You'll find the best people there," he said; "the aristocracy. The
Treble Clef gives a concert, and everybody that's anybody will be
there."

They met again the following evening and proceeded to the church. It was
a simple but pleasant auditorium, nearly filled with well-dressed
people. During the programme Bles applauded vociferously every number
that pleased him, which is to say, every one--and stamped his feet,
until he realized that he was attracting considerable attention to
himself. Then the entertainment straightway lost all its charm; he grew
painfully embarrassed, and for the remainder of the evening was
awkwardly self-conscious. When all was over, the audience rose leisurely
and stood in little knots and eddies, laughing and talking; many moved
forward to say a word to the singers and players, Stillings stepped
aside to a group of men, and Bles was left miserably alone. A man came
to him, a white-faced man, with slightly curling close gray hair, and
high-bred ascetic countenance.

"You are a stranger?" he asked pleasantly, and Bles liked him.

"Yes, sir," he answered, and they fell to talking. He discovered that
this was the pastor of the church.

"Do you know no one in town?"

"One or two of my fellow clerks and Mr. Stillings. Oh, yes, I've met
Miss Wynn."

"Why, here is Miss Wynn now."

Bles turned. She was right behind him, the centre of a group. She
turned, slowly, and smiled.

"Oh!" she uttered twice, but with difference cadence. Then something
like amusement lurked a moment in her eye, and she quietly presented
Bles to her friends, while Stillings hovered unnoticed in the offing:

"Miss Jones--Mr. Alwyn of--" she paused a second--"Alabama. Miss
Taylor--Mr. Alwyn--and," with a backward curving of her neck, "Mr.
Teerswell," and so on. Mr. Teerswell was handsome and indolent, with
indecision in his face and a cynical voice. In a moment Bles felt the
subtle antagonism of the group. He was an intruder. Mr. Teerswell nodded
easily and turned away, continuing his conversation with the ladies.

But Miss Wynn was perverse and interrupted. "I saw you enjoyed the
concert, Mr. Alwyn," she said, and one of the young ladies rippled
audibly. Bles darkened painfully, realizing that these people must have
been just behind him. But he answered frankly:

"Yes, I did immensely--I hope I didn't disturb you; you see, I'm not
used to hearing such singing."

Mr. Teerswell, compelled to listen, laughed drily.

"Plantation melodies, I suppose, are more your specialty," he said with
a slight cadence.

"Yes," said Bles simply. A slight pause ensued.

Then came the surprise of the evening for Bles Alwyn. Even his
inexperienced eye could discern that Miss Wynn was very popular, and
that most of the men were rivals for her attentions.

"Mr. Alwyn," she said graciously, rising. "I'm going to trouble you to
see me to my door; it's only a block. Good-night, all!" she called, but
she bowed to Mr. Teerswell.

Miss Wynn placed her hand lightly on Bles's arm, and for a moment he
paused. A thrill ran through him as he felt again the weight of a little
hand and saw beside him the dark beautiful eyes of a girl. He felt again
the warm quiver of her body. Then he awoke to the lighted church and the
moving, well-dressed throng. The hand on his arm was not so small; but
it was well-gloved, and somehow the fancy struck him that it was a cold
hand and not always sympathetic in its touch.

_Twenty-three_

THE TRAINING OF ZORA

"I did not know the world was so large," remarked Zora as she and Mrs.
Vanderpool flew east and northward on the New York-New Orleans limited.
For a long time the girl had given herself up to the sheer delight of
motion. Gazing from the window, she compared the lands she passed with
the lands she knew: noting the formation of the cotton; the kind and
growth of the trees; the state of the roads. Then the comparisons became
infinite, endless; the world stretched on and on until it seemed mere
distance, and she suddenly realized how vast a thing it was and spoke.

Mrs. Vanderpool was amused. "It's much smaller than one would think,"
she responded.

When they came to Atlanta Zora stared and wrinkled her brows. It was her
first large city. The other towns were replicas of Toomsville; strange
in number, not in kind; but this was different, and she could not
understand it. It seemed senseless and unreasonable, and yet so
strangely so that she was at a loss to ask questions. She was very
solemn as they rode on and night came down with dreams.

She awoke in Washington to new fairylands and wonders; the endless going
and coming of men; great piles that challenged heaven, and homes crowded
on homes till one could not believe that they were full of living
things. They rolled by Baltimore and Philadelphia, and she talked of
every-day matters: of the sky which alone stood steadfast amid whirling
change; of bits of empty earth that shook themselves here and there
loose from their burden of men, and lay naked in the cold shining
sunlight.

All the while the greater questions were beating and curling and
building themselves back in her brain, and above all she was wondering
why no one had told her before of all this mighty world. Mrs.
Vanderpool, to whom it seemed too familiar for comment, had said no
word; or, if she had spoken, Zora's ears had not been tuned to
understand; and as they flew toward the towering ramparts of New York,
she sat up big with the terror of a new thought: suppose this world were
full yet of things she did not know nor dream of? How could she find
out? She must know.

When finally they were settled in New York and sat high up on the Fifth
Avenue front of the hotel, gradually the inarticulate questioning found
words, albeit strange ones.

"It reminds me of the swamp," she said.

Mrs. Vanderpool, just returned from a shopping tour, burst into
laughter.

"It is--but I marvel at your penetration."

"I mean, it is moving--always moving."

"The swamp seemed to me unearthly still."

"Yes--yes," cried Zora, eagerly, brushing back the rumpled hair; "and so
did the city, at first, to me."

"Still! New York?"

"Yes. You see, I saw the buildings and forgot the men; and the
buildings were so tall and silent against Heaven. And then I came to see
the people, and suddenly I knew the city was like the swamp, always
restless and changing."

"And more beautiful?" suggested Mrs. Vanderpool, slipping her arms into
her lounging-robe.

"Oh, no; not nearly so beautiful. And yet--more interesting." Then with
a puzzled look: "I wonder why?"

"Perhaps because it's people and not things."

"It's people in the swamp," asserted Zora, dreamily, smoothing out the
pillows of the couch, "'little people,' I call them. The difference is,
I think, that there I know how the story will come out; everything is
changing, but I know how and why and from what and to what. Now here,
_every_thing seems to be happening; but what is it that is happening?"

"You must know what has happened, to know what may happen," said Mrs.
Vanderpool.

"But how can I know?"

"I'll get you some books to-morrow."

"I'd like to know what it means," wistfully.

"It is meaningless." The woman's cynicism was lost upon Zora, of course,
but it possessed the salutary effect of stimulating the girl's thoughts,
encouraging her to discover for herself.

"I think not; so much must mean something," she protested.

Zora gathered up the clothes and things and shaded the windows, glancing
the while down on the street.

"Everybody is going, going," she murmured. "I wonder where. Don't they
ever get there?"

"Few arrive," said Mrs. Vanderpool. Zora softly bent and passed her cool
soft hand over her forehead.

"Then why do they go?"

"The zest of the search, perhaps."

"No," said Zora as she noiselessly left the room and closed the door;
"no, they are searching for something they have lost. Perhaps they, too,
are searching for the Way," and the tears blinded her eyes.

Mrs. Vanderpool lay in the quiet darkened room with a puzzled smile on
her lips. A month ago she had not dreamed that human interest in anybody
would take so strong a hold upon her as her liking for Zora had done.
She was a woman of unusual personal charm, but her own interest and
affections were seldom stirred. Had she been compelled to earn a living
she would have made a successful teacher or manipulator of men. As it
was, she viewed the human scene with detached and cynical interest. She
had no children, few near relations, a husband who went his way and
still was a gentleman.

Essentially Mrs. Vanderpool was unmoral. She held the code of her social
set with sportsmanlike honor; but even beyond this she stooped to no
intrigue, because none interested her. She had all the elements of power
save the motive for doing anything in particular. For the first time,
perhaps, Zora gave her life a peculiar human interest. She did not love
the girl, but she was intensely interested in her; some of the interest
was selfish, for Zora was going to be a perfect maid. The girl's
language came to be more and more like Mrs. Vanderpool's; her dress and
taste in adornment had been Mrs. Vanderpool's first care, and it led to
a curious training in art and sense of beauty until the lady now and
then found herself learner before the quick suggestiveness of Zora's
mind.

When Mrs. Harry Cresswell called a month or so later the talk naturally
included mention of Zora. Mary was happy and vivacious, and noted the
girl's rapid development.

"I wonder what I shall make out of her?" queried Mrs. Vanderpool. "Do
you know, I believe I could mould her into a lady if she were not
black."

Mary Cresswell laughed. "With that hair?"

"It has artistic possibilities. You should have seen my hair-dresser's
face when I told her to do it up. Her face and Zora's were a pantomime
for the gods. Yet it was done. It lay in some great twisted cloud and in
that black net gown of mine Zora was simply magnificent. Her form is
perfect, her height is regal, her skin is satin, and my jewels found a
resting place at last. Jewels, you know, dear, were never meant for
white folk. I was tempted to take her to the box at the opera and let
New York break its impudent neck."

Mary was shocked.

"But, Mrs. Vanderpool," she protested, "is it right? Is it fair? Why
should you spoil this black girl and put impossible ideas into her head?
You can make her a perfect maid, but she can never be much more in
America."

"She is a perfect maid now; that's the miracle of it--she's that deft
and quick and quiet and thoughtful! The hotel employees think her
perfect; my friends rave--really, I'm the most blessed of women. But do
you know I like the girl? I--well, I think of her future."

"It's wrong to treat her as you do. You make her an equal. Her room is
one of the best and filled with books and bric-a-brac. She sometimes
eats with you--is your companion, in fact."

"What of it? She loves to read, and I guide her while she keeps me up on
the latest stuff. She can talk much better than many of my friends and
then she piques my curiosity: she's a sort of intellectual sauce that
stirs my rapidly failing mental appetite. I think that as soon as I can
make up my mind to spare her, I'll take her to France and marry her off
in the colonies."

"Well, that's possible; but one doesn't easily give up good servants. By
the way, I learn from Miss Smith that the boy, Bles Alwyn, in whom Zora
was so interested, is a clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington."

"Indeed! I'm going to Washington this winter; I'll look him over and see
if he's worth Zora--which I greatly doubt."

Mrs. Cresswell pursed her lips and changed the subject.

"Have you seen the Easterlys?"

"The ladies left their cards--they are quite impossible. Mr. Easterly
calls this afternoon. I can't imagine why, but he asked for an
appointment. Will you go South with Mr. Cresswell? I'm glad to hear he's
entering politics."

"No, I shall do some early house hunting in Washington," said Mrs.
Cresswell, rising as Mr. Easterly was announced.

Mr. Easterly was not at home in Mrs. Vanderpool's presence. She spoke a
language different from his, and she had shown a disconcerting way, in
the few times when he had spoken with her, of letting the weight of the
conversation rest on him. He felt very distinctly that Mrs. Vanderpool
was not particularly desirous of his company, nor that of his family.
Nevertheless, he needed Mrs. Vanderpool's influence just now, and he was
willing to pay considerable for it. Once under obligation to him her
services would be very valuable. He was glad to find Mrs. Cresswell
there. It showed that the Cresswells were still intimate, and the
Cresswells were bound to him and his interests by strong ties. He bowed
as Mrs. Cresswell left, and then did not beat around the bush because,
in this case, he did not know how.

"Mrs. Vanderpool, I need your aid."

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled politely, and murmured something.

"We are, you know, in the midst of a rather warm presidential campaign,"
continued Mr. Easterly.

"Yes?" with polite interest.

"We are going to win easily, but our majority in Congress for certain
matters will depend on the attitude of Southerners and you usually spend
the winters in Washington. If, now, you could drop a word here and
there--"

"But why should I?" asked Mrs. Vanderpool.

"Mrs. Vanderpool, to be frank, I know some excellent investments that
your influence in this line would help. I take it you're not so rich but
that--"

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled faintly.

"Really, Mr. Easterly, I know little about such matters and care less. I
have food and clothes. Why worry with more?"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25