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

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"Yes, I do usually," Miss Wynn asserted, adjusting her furs.

Mrs. Vanderpool was further surprised. Did colored people attend the
ball?

"We sorely need a national ball-room," she said. "Isn't the census
building wretched?"

"I do not know," smiled Miss Wynn.

"Oh, I thought you said--"

"I meant _our_ ball."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Vanderpool in turn. "Oh!" Here a thought came. Of
course, the colored people had their own ball; she remembered having
heard about it. Why not send Zora? She plunged in:

"Miss Wynn, I have a maid--such an intelligent girl; I do wish she could
attend your ball--" seeing her blunder, she paused. Miss Wynn was coolly
buttoning her glove.

"Yes," she acknowledged politely, "few of us can afford maids, and
therefore we do not usually arrange for them; but I think we can have
your _protegee_ look on from the gallery. Good-afternoon."

As Mrs. Vanderpool drove home she related the talk to Zora. Zora was
silent at first. Then she said deliberately:

"Miss Wynn was right."

"Why, Zora!"

"Did Helene attend the ball four years ago?"

"But, Zora, must you folk ape our nonsense as well as our sense?"

"You force us to," said Zora.

_Twenty-eight_

THE ANNUNCIATION

The new President had been inaugurated. Beneath the creamy pile of the
old Capitol, and facing the new library, he had stood aloft and looked
down on a waving sea of faces--black-coated, jostling, eager-eyed fellow
creatures. They had watched his lips move, had scanned eagerly his dress
and the gowned and decorated dignitaries beside him; and then, with
blare of band and prancing of horses, he had been whirled down the dip
and curve of that long avenue, with its medley of meanness and thrift
and hurry and wealth, until, swinging sharply, the dim walls of the
White House rose before him. He entered with a sigh.

Then the vast welter of humanity dissolved and streamed hither and
thither, gaping and laughing until night, when thousands poured into the
red barn of the census shack and entered the artificial fairyland
within. The President walked through, smiling; the senators protected
their friends in the crush; and Harry Cresswell led his wife to a
little oasis of Southern ladies and gentlemen.

"This is democracy for you," said he, wiping his brow.

From a whirling eddy Mrs. Vanderpool waved at them, and they rescued
her.

"I think I am ready to go," she gasped. "Did you ever!"

"Come," Cresswell invited. But just then the crowd pushed them apart and
shot them along, and Mrs. Cresswell found herself clinging to her
husband amid two great whirling variegated throngs of driving,
white-faced people. The band crashed and blared; the people laughed and
pushed; and with rhythmic sound and swing the mighty throng was dancing.

It took much effort, but at last the Cresswell party escaped and rolled
off in their carriages. They swept into the avenue and out again, then
up 14th Street, where, turning for some street obstruction, they passed
a throng of carriages on a cross street.

"It's the other ball," cried Mrs. Vanderpool, and amid laughter she
added, "Let's go!"

It was--the other ball. For Washington is itself, and something else
besides. Along beside it ever runs that dark and haunting echo; that
shadowy world-in-world with its accusing silence, its emphatic
self-sufficiency. Mrs. Cresswell at first demurred. She thought of
Elspeth's cabin: the dirt, the smell, the squalor: of course, this would
be different; but--well, Mrs. Cresswell had little inclination for
slumming. She was interested in the under-world, but intellectually, not
by personal contact. She did not know that this was a side-world, not an
under-world. Yet the imposing building did not look sordid.

"Hired?" asked some one.

"No, owned."

"Indeed!"

Then there was a hitch.

"Tickets?"

"Where can we buy them?"

"Not on sale," was the curt reply.

"Actually exclusive!" sneered Cresswell, for he could not imagine any
one unwelcome at a Negro ball. Then he bethought himself of Sam
Stillings and sent for him. In a few minutes he had a dozen
complimentary tickets in his hand.

They entered the balcony and sat down. Mary Cresswell leaned forward. It
was interesting. Beneath her was an ordinary pretty ball--flowered,
silked, and ribboned; with swaying whirling figures, music, and
laughter, and all the human fun of gayety and converse.

And then she was impressed with the fact that this was no ordinary
scene; it was, on the contrary, most extraordinary.

There was a black man waltzing with a white woman--no, she was not
white, for Mary caught the cream and curl of the girl as she swept past:
but there was a white man (was he white?) and a black woman. The color
of the scene was wonderful. The hard human white seemed to glow and live
and run a mad gamut of the spectrum, from morn till night, from white to
black; through red and sombre browns, pale and brilliant yellows, dead
and living blacks. Through her opera-glasses Mary scanned their hair;
she noted everything from the infinitely twisted, crackled, dead, and
grayish-black to the piled mass of red golden sunlight. Her eyes went
dreaming; there below was the gathering of the worlds. She saw types of
all nations and all lands swirling beneath her in human brotherhood, and
a great wonder shook her. They seemed so happy. Surely, this was no
nether world; it was upper earth, and--her husband beckoned; he had been
laughing incontinently. He saw nothing but a crowd of queer looking
people doing things they were not made to do and appearing absurdly
happy over it. It irritated him unreasonably.

"See the washer-woman in red," he whispered. "Look at the monkey. Come,
let's go."

They trooped noisily down-stairs, and Cresswell walked unceremoniously
between a black man and his partner. Mrs. Vanderpool recognized and
greeted the girl as Miss Wynn. Mrs. Cresswell did not notice her, but
she paused with a start of recognition at the sight of the man.

"Why, Bles!" she exclaimed impetuously, starting to hold out her hand.
She was sincerely pleased at seeing him. Then she remembered. She bowed
and smiled, looking at him with interest and surprise. He was correctly
dressed, and the white shirt set off the comeliness of his black face in
compelling contrast. He carried himself like a man, and bowed with
gravity and dignity. She passed on and heard her husband's petulant
voice in her ear.

"Mary--Mary! for Heaven's sake, come on; don't shake hands with
niggers."

It was recurring flashes of temper like this, together with evidences of
dubious company and a growing fondness for liquor, that drove Mary
Cresswell more and more to find solace in the work of Congressman Todd's
Civic Club. She collected statistics for several of the Committee, wrote
letters, interviewed a few persons, and felt herself growing in
usefulness and importance. She did not mention these things to her
husband; she knew he would not object, but she shrank from his ridicule.

The various causes advocated by the Civic Club felt the impetus of the
aggressive work of the organization. This was especially the case with
the National Education Bill and the amendment to the Child Labor Bill.
The movement became strong enough to call Mr. Easterly down from New
York. He and the inner circle went over matters carefully.

"We need the political strength of the South," said Easterly; "not only
in framing national legislation in our own interests, but always in
State laws. Particularly, we must get them into line to offset Todd's
foolishness. The Child Labor Bill must either go through unamended or be
killed. The Cotton Inspection Bill--our chief measure--must be slipped
through quietly by Southern votes, while in the Tariff mix-up we must
take good care of cotton.

"Now, on the other hand, we are offending the Southerners in three ways:
Todd's revived Blair Bill is too good a thing for niggers; the South is
clamoring for a first classy embassy appointment; and the President's
nomination of Alwyn as Treasurer will raise a howl from Virginia to
Texas."

"There is some strong influence back of Alwyn," said Senator Smith; "not
only are the Negroes enthused, but the President has daily letters from
prominent whites."

"The strong influence is named Vanderpool," Easterly drily remarked.
"She's playing a bigger political game than I laid out for her. That's
the devil with women: they can't concentrate: they get too damned many
side issues. Now, I offered her husband the French ambassadorship
provided she'd keep the Southerners feeling good toward us. She's hand
in glove with the Southerners, all right; but she wants not only her
husband's appointment but this darkey's too."

"But that's been decided, hasn't it?" put in Smith.

"Yes," grumbled Easterly; "but it makes it hard already. At any rate,
the Educational Bill must be killed right off. No more talk; no more
consideration--kill it, and kill it now. Now about this Child Labor
Bill: Todd's Civic Club is raising the mischief. Who's responsible?"

The silent Jackson spoke up. "Congressman Cresswell's wife has been very
active, and Todd thinks they've got the South with them."

"Congressman Cresswell's wife!" Easterly's face was one great
exclamation point. "Now what the devil does this mean?"

"I'm afraid," said Senator Smith, "that it may mean an attempt on the
part of Cresswell's friends to boost him for the French ambassadorship.
He's the only Southerner with money enough to support the position, and
there's been a good deal of quiet talk, I understand, in Southern
circles."

"But it's treason!" Easterly shouted. "It will ruin the plans of the
Combine to put this amended Child Labor Bill through. John Taylor has
just written me that he's starting mills at Toomsville, and that he
depends on unrestricted labor conditions, as we must throughout the
South. Doesn't Cresswell know this?"

"Of course. I think it's just a bluff. If he gets the appointment he'll
let the bill drop."

"I see--everybody is raising his price, is he? Pretty soon the darky
will be holding us up. Well, see Cresswell, and put it to him strong. I
must go. Wire me."

Senator Smith presented the matter bluntly to Cresswell as soon as he
saw him. "Which would the South prefer--Todd's Education Bill, or
Alwyn's appointment?"

It was characteristic of Cresswell that the smaller matter of Stillings'
intrigue should interest him more than Todd's measure, of which he knew
nothing.

"What is Todd's bill?" asked Harry Cresswell, darkening.

Smith, surprised, got out a copy and explained. Cresswell interrupted
before he was half through.

"Don't you see," he said angrily, "that that will ruin our plans for the
Cotton Combine?"

"Yes, I do," replied Smith; "but it will not do the immediate harm that
the amended Child Labor Bill will do."

"What's that?" demanded Cresswell, frowning again.

Senator Smith regarded him again: was Cresswell playing a shrewd game?

"Why," he said at length, "aren't you promoting it?"

"No," was the reply. "Never heard of it."

"But," Senator Smith began, and paused. He turned and took up a circular
issued by the Civic Club, giving a careful account of their endeavors to
amend and pass the Child Labor Bill. Cresswell read it, then threw it
aside.

"Nonsense!" he indignantly repudiated the measure. "That will never do;
it's as bad as the Education Bill."

"But your wife is encouraging it and we thought you were back of it."

Cresswell stared in blank amazement.

"My wife!" he gasped. Then he bethought himself. "It's a mistake," he
supplemented; "Mrs. Cresswell gave them no authority to sign her name."

"She's been very active," Smith persisted, "and naturally we were all
anxious."

Cresswell bit his lip. "I shall speak to her; she does not realize what
use they are making of her passing interest."

He hurried away, and Senator Smith felt a bit sorry for Mrs. Cresswell
when he recalled the expression on her husband's face.

Mary Cresswell did not get home until nearly dinner time; then she came
in glowing with enthusiasm. Her work had received special commendation
that afternoon, and she had been asked to take the chairmanship of the
committee on publicity. Finding that her husband was at home, she
determined to tell him--it was so good to be doing something worth
while. Perhaps, too, he might be made to show some interest. She thought
of Mr. and Mrs. Todd and the old dream glowed faintly again.

Cresswell looked at her as she entered the library where he was waiting
and smoking. She was rumpled and muddy, with flying hair and thick
walking shoes and the air of bustle and vigor which had crept into her
blood this last month. Truly, her cheeks were glowing and her eyes
bright, but he disapproved. Softness and daintiness, silk and lace and
glimmering flesh, belonged to women in his mind, and he despised Amazons
and "business" women. He received her kiss coldly, and Mary's heart
sank. She essayed some gay greeting, but he interrupted her.

"What's this stuff about the Civic Club?" he began sharply.

"Stuff?" she queried, blankly.

"That's what I said."

"I'm sure I don't know," she answered stiffly. "I belong to the Civic
Club, and have been working with it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" His resentment grew as he proceeded.

"I did not think you were interested."

"Didn't you know that this Child Labor business was opposed to my
interests?"

"Dear, I did not dream it. It's a Republican bill, to be sure; but you
seemed very friendly with Senator Smith, who introduced it. We were
simply trying to improve it."

"Suppose we didn't want it improved."

"That's what some said; but I did not believe such--deception."

The blood rushed to Cresswell's face.

"Well, you will drop this bill and the Civic Club from now on."

"Why?"

"Because I say so," he retorted explosively, too angry to explain
further.

She looked at him--a long, fixed, penetrating look which revealed more
than she had ever seen before, then turned away and went slowly
up-stairs. She did not come down to dinner, and in the evening the
doctor was called.

Cresswell drooped a bit after eating, hesitated, and reflected. He had
acted too cavalierly in this Civic Club mess, he concluded, and yet he
would not back down. He'd go see her and pet her a bit, but be firm.

He opened her boudoir door gently, and she stood before him radiant,
clothed in silk and lace, her hair loosened. He paused, astonished. But
she threw herself upon his neck, with a joyful, half hysterical cry.

"I will give it all up--everything! Willingly, willingly!" Her voice
dropped abruptly to a tremulous whisper. "Oh, Harry! I--I am to be the
mother of a child!"

_Twenty-nine_

A MASTER OF FATE

"There is not the slightest doubt, Miss Wynn," Senator Smith was saying,
"but that the schools of the District will be reorganized."

"And the Board of Education abolished?" she added.

"Yes. The power will be delegated to a single white superintendent."

The vertical line in Caroline Wynn's forehead became pronounced.

"Whose work is this, Senator?" she asked.

"Well, there are, of course, various parties back of the change: the
'outs,' the reformers, the whole tendency to concentrate responsibility,
and so on. But, frankly, the deciding factor was the demand of the
South."

"Is there anything in Washington that the South does not already own?"

Senator Smith smiled thinly.

"Not much," drily; "but we own the South."

"And part of the price is putting the colored schools of the District in
the hands of a Southern man and depriving us of all voice in their
control?"

"Precisely, Miss Wynn. But you'd be surprised to know that it was the
Negroes themselves who stirred the South to this demand."

"Not at all; you mean the colored newspapers, I presume."

"The same, with Teerswell's clever articles; then his partner Stillings
worked the 'impudent Negro teacher' argument on Cresswell until
Cresswell was wild to get the South in control of the schools."

"But what do Teerswell and Stillings want?"

"They want Bles Alwyn to make a fool of himself."

"That is a trifle cryptic," Miss Wynn mused. The Senator amplified.

"We are giving the South the Washington schools and killing the
Education Bill in return for this support of some of our measures and
their assent to Alwyn's appointment. You see I speak frankly."

"I can stand it, Senator."

"I believe you can. Well, now, if Alwyn should act unwisely and offend
the South, somebody else stands in line for the appointment."

"As Treasurer?" she asked in surprise.

"Oh, no, they are too shrewd to ask that; it would offend their backers,
or shall I say their tools, the Southerners. No, they ask only to be
Register and Assistant Register of the Treasury. This is an office
colored men have held for years, and it is quite ambitious enough for
them; so Stillings assures Cresswell and his friends."

"I see," Miss Wynn slowly acknowledged. "But how do they hope to make
Mr. Alwyn blunder?"

"Too easily, I fear--unless _you_ are very careful. Alwyn has been
working like a beaver for the National Education Bill. He's been in to
see me several times, as you probably know. His heart is set on it. He
regards its passage as a sort of vindication of his defence of the
party."

"Yes."

"Now, the party has dropped the bill for good, and Alwyn doesn't like
it. If he should attack the party--"

"But he wouldn't," cried Miss Wynn with a start that belied her
conviction.

"Did you know that he is to be invited to make the principal address to
the graduates of the colored high-school?"

"But," she objected. "They have selected Bishop Johnson; I--"

"I know you did," laughed the Senator, "but the Judge got orders from
higher up."

"Shrewd Mr. Teerswell," remarked Miss Wynn, sagely.

"Shrewd Mr. Stillings," the Senator corrected; "but perhaps too shrewd.
Suppose Mr. Alwyn should take this occasion to make a thorough defence
of the party?"

"But--will he?"

"That's where you come in," Senator Smith pointed out, rising, "and the
real reason of this interview. We're depending on you to pull the party
out of an awkward hole," and he shook hands with his caller.

Miss Wynn walked slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue with a smile on her face.

"I did not give him the credit," she declared, repeating it; "I did not
give him the credit. Here I was, playing an alluring game on the side,
and my dear Tom transforms it into a struggle for bread and butter; for
of course, if the Board of Education goes, I lose my place." She lifted
her head and stared along the avenue.

A bitterness dawned in her eyes. The whole street was a living insult to
her. Here she was, an American girl by birth and breeding, a daughter of
citizens who had fought and bled and worked for a dozen generations on
this soil; yet if she stepped into this hotel to rest, even with full
purse, she would be politely refused accommodation. Should she attempt
to go into this picture show she would be denied entrance. She was
thirsty with the walk; but at yonder fountain the clerk would roughly
refuse to serve her. It was lunch time; there was no place within a mile
where she was allowed to eat. The revolt deepened within her. Beyond
these known and definite discriminations lay the unknown and hovering.
In yonder store nothing hindered the clerk from being exceptionally
pert; on yonder street-car the conductor might reserve his politeness
for white folk; this policeman's business was to keep black and brown
people in their places. All this Caroline Wynn thought of, and then
smiled.

This was the thing poor blind Bles was trying to attack by "appeals" for
"justice." Nonsense! Does one "appeal" to the red-eyed beast that
throttles him? No. He composes himself, looks death in the eye, and
speaks softly, on the chance. Whereupon Miss Wynn composed herself,
waved gayly at a passing acquaintance, and matched some ribbons in a
department store. The clerk was new and anxious to sell.

Meantime her brain was busy. She had a hard task before her. Alwyn's
absurd conscience and Quixotic ideas were difficult to cope with. After
his last indiscreet talk she had ventured deftly to remonstrate, and she
well remembered the conversation.

"Wasn't what I said true?" he had asked.

"Perfectly. Is that an excuse for saying it?"

"The facts ought to be known."

"Yes, but ought you to tell them?"

"If not I, who?"

"Some one who is less useful elsewhere, and whom I like less."

"Carrie," he had been intensely earnest. "I want to do the best thing,
but I'm puzzled. I wonder if I'm selling my birthright for six thousand
dollars?"

"In case of doubt, do it."

"But there's the doubt: I may convert; I may open the eyes of the blind;
I may start a crusade for Negro rights."

"Don't believe it; it's useless; we'll never get our rights in this
land."

"You don't believe that!" he had ejaculated, shocked.

Well, she must begin again. As she had hoped, he was waiting for her
when she reached home. She welcomed him cordially, made a little music
for him, and served tea.

"Bles," she said, "the Opposition has been laying a pretty shrewd trap
for you."

"What?" he asked absently.

"They are going to have you chosen as High School commencement orator."

"Me? Stuff!"

"You--and not stuff, but 'Education' will be your natural theme. Indeed,
they have so engineered it that the party chiefs expect from you a
defence of their dropping of the Educational Bill."

"What!"

"Yes, and probably your nomination will come before the speech and
confirmation after."

Bles walked the floor excitedly for a while and then sat down and
smiled.

"It was a shrewd move," he said; "but I think I thank them for it."

"I don't. But still,

_"''T is the sport to see the engineer hoist
by his own petar.'"_

Bles mused and she watched him covertly. Suddenly she leaned over.

"Moreover," she said, "about that same date I'm liable to lose my
position as teacher."

He looked at her quickly, and she explained the coming revolution in
school management.

He did not discuss the matter, and she was equally reticent; but when he
entered the doors of his lodging-place and, gathering his mail, slowly
mounted the stairs, there came the battle of his life.

He knew it and he tried to wage it coolly and with method. He arrayed
the arguments side by side: on this side lay success; the greatest
office ever held by a Negro in America--greater than Douglass or Bruce
or Lynch had held--a landmark, a living example and inspiration. A man
owed the world success; there were plenty who could fail and stumble and
give multiple excuses. Should he be one? He viewed the other side. What
must he pay for success? Aye, face it boldly--what? Mechanically he
searched for his mail and undid the latest number of the _Colored
American_. He was sure the answer stood there in Teerswell's biting
vulgar English. And there it was, with a cartoon:

HIS MASTER'S VOICE

Alwyn is Ordered to Eat His Words or Get Out
Watch Him Do It Gracefully
The Republican Leaders, etc.

He threw down his paper, and the hot blood sang in his ears. The
sickening thought was that it was true. If he did make the speech
demanded it would be like a dog obedient to his master's voice.

The cold sweat oozed on his face; throwing up the window, he drank in
the Spring breeze, and stared at the city he once had thought so
alluring. Somehow it looked like the swamp, only less beautiful; he
stretched his arms and his lips breathed--"Zora!"

He turned hastily to his desk and looked at the other piece of mail--a
single sealed note carefully written on heavy paper. He did not
recognize the handwriting. Then his mind flew off again. What would they
say if he failed to get the office? How they would silently hoot and
jeer at the upstart who suddenly climbed so high and fell. And Carrie
Wynn--poor Carrie, with her pride and position dragged down in his ruin:
how would she take it? He writhed in soul. And yet, to be a man; to say
calmly, "No"; to stand in that great audience and say, "My people first
and last"; to take Carrie's hand and together face the world and
struggle again to newer finer triumphs--all this would be very close to
attainment of the ideal. He found himself staring at the little letter.
Would she go? Would she, could she, lay aside her pride and cynicism,
her dainty ways and little extravagances? An odd fancy came to him:
perhaps the answer to the riddle lay sealed within the envelope he
fingered.

He opened it. Within lay four lines of writing--no more--no address, no
signature; simply the words:

_"It matters now how strait the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll;
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul."_

He stared at the lines. Eleven o'clock--twelve--one--chimed the
deep-voiced clock without, before Alwyn went to bed.

Miss Wynn had kept a vigil almost as long. She knew that Bles had
influential friends who had urged his preferment; it might be wise to
enlist them. Before she fell asleep she had determined to have a talk
with Mrs. Vanderpool. She had learned from Senator Smith that the lady
took special interest in Alwyn.

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