"I am in favor of it. What have we ever done as a club for the real uplift of the city where it needs the most help? We have a membership in the United Clubs of nearly one thousand members. If each of us gave one dollar, that would go a long way toward supporting the social settlement for a year."
Again there was an expressive silence. There was assent on some faces, disapproval on others. Mrs. Lewis was about to go on, when she was suddenly called out of the room. The discussion continued after she was gone. It grew more animated throughout the afternoon and evening. The social settlement in Freetown became the one exciting theme of conversation. There was one large element that seemed ready to go with the president and pledge the United Clubs to the support of the work. There was another decided group of women who refused to entertain the idea of making such a radical change in the programme of regular club life.
When the reception was over and every one had gone home, it was entirely uncertain whether Mrs. Lewis would be able to use her influence to persuade the United Clubs to take an active part in the work of redeeming Freetown. Mrs. Lewis sat very thoughtful in her house that evening. Several times she said to herself: "O, we might, we ought. Surely we are not using our time and our strength to the highest advantage." But, after all, she was unable to tell whether her influence was strong enough to carry the majority of the clubs with her.
Meanwhile, the prisoner Burke Williams had been awaiting in the county jail the carrying out of the sentence which condemned him to the penitentiary for twenty years. According to the common law in the case, he would be obliged to serve out the time for his first offence before being tried for the second. But various plans had been tried to surprise him into confessing the crime of Claude Vernon's murder, and he was detained in the county jail beyond the regular time.
He was still in his cell, sullen and silent. The sheriff had at last made his plans to convey the prisoner to the State prison on the day when Judge Vernon was sitting in a case where another negro from Freetown was under trial for a serious offence against the State.
Judge Vernon sat there pale and stern. His emotions were conflicting. The man on trial again represented the lost part of the city, and every time he looked at his stolid, brutal face the judge saw the face of the other man, and pictured him on his way to his twenty years' confinement. Could such a spot as Freetown be redeemed? Was it possible to save such souls as these? The courtroom was crowded. The bailiff had just arisen to proclaim the opening of court. Suddenly, near the door, an unusual disturbance was noticeable. It grew in volume. All eyes were turned in that direction. Judge Vernon half rose from his seat; and the large audience, lawyers, officers, and spectators, seemed to feel as by a united wave of intelligence that something very remarkable had happened.