“But this isn’t Colquitt County, June. This is up North, and things are different here. Up here a coloured man is as good as a white man—at least they think he is.”
“No, sir, Mas’ Wayne, they don’ think that, sir. They jus’ perten’ they thinks it. Don’ no white man sit down to a table with a nigger, does they? They lets you ride in the same car with the white folks, but you can’ go to white folkses hotel. It’s mighty mixed up, Mas’ Wayne, an’ you don’ know where you is!”
“But there are a lot of coloured fellows in the Y. M. C. A., June. Doesn’t that show that it’s all right for you to join it?”
“Shows it’s all right for them, Mas’ Wayne, but it don’ prove nothin’ to me! I jus’ wouldn’ care for it. White folks is white folks an’ niggers is niggers, an’ there ain’ no gettin’ aroun’ it, Mas’ Wayne. No, sir, don’ you ask me to join no ’Sociation, Mas’ Wayne.”
Secretly, Wayne was a little relieved at June’s decision, for he held the same views on the subject. He and June had been playmates when they were tiny, companions later, and friends always, but he had been brought up in the firm conviction that the negro was an inferior race. Whether he was right or wrong I don’t pretend to know.
At all events, June remained firm. By this time he was flourishing exceedingly. His deposit had been paid and he was now getting three dollars every Monday from the proprietor of the hotel and earning an average of twice that amount in tips, all of which, it may be truthfully stated, he did his honest best to deserve. He was easily the most popular of the four bell boys employed at the hotel, and, since envy and malice are not confined to those with white skins, he had had his troubles. The head bell boy who, prior to June’s advent, had ruled the roost with a high hand, levying toll on the earnings of the other and younger boys, had not yielded his rule without a struggle. But he had run up against a Tartar in June, for the latter refused to either acknowledge the other’s right of dominion or give up any of his earnings to him. The eventual result was a decisive battle with fists in the furnace-room, a bout in which June, in spite of smaller size and weight, conclusively proved his superiority. The head bell boy retired from public life for the space of one whole day, and, when he returned, brought back with him a meek and respectful demeanour. June didn’t deceive himself into thinking that the other was any fonder of him for the beating he had received, but he was quite sure that thereafter he would be let alone.
Meanwhile Wayne learned a little better every day how to make himself useful to Jim Mason and every day grew to find more interest in his work. He became a great favourite with the men around the freight yard, while Jim never missed an opportunity to do him any kindness in his power. Frequently Wayne was invited to the house with the sun-parlor for supper or Sunday dinner, and less frequently he accepted the invitation and went. He was always certain of good, well-cooked food which, if plain, was abundant. Mrs. Mason had long since learned of Wayne’s rescue of Terry and could never do enough for him. Terry, too, welcomed the visitor, evincing an almost embarrassing enthusiasm for his society. Wayne was duly introduced to the wonderful hen—whose name, strangely enough, proved to be Teddie—and to her even more wonderful brood of chickens, four in number.
In consequence of new friends and new interests, Wayne naturally spent less time at “Carhurst” and saw less of June. But June, too, had found friends amongst his own race and was not lonesome. In fact, he confided to Wayne one evening after supper, while the latter was anxiously examining the growth of his plants and watering them from the dish pan, that he “liked this yere place right smart,” adding that he “reckoned it wasn’t never intended they should go to New York.” June had blossomed forth in new clothes which, while extremely inexpensive, made him look quite fine. Wayne tried to tease him by saying that he was just like a Northern nigger now, but June didn’t mind. “’Tain’ your clothes, Mas’ Wayne, that makes you ’spectable,” he said. “It’s the way you acts!”
Wayne, too, had provided himself with new attire. It was Arthur Pattern who tactfully hinted at the advisability of enlarging his wardrobe, something that Wayne had had in mind for a fortnight and had been deterred from doing only by the realisation of the tremendous hole the outlay would make in his savings. When he did emerge from the clothing store carrying a neat blue serge suit in a big pasteboard box he was as near penniless as one could be and have a jingle left in his pocket! But the expenditure paid for itself if only in the comfortable feeling of being decently dressed when Wayne went to the Y. M. C. A. of an afternoon, as had become his custom. Usually Arthur Pattern stopped for him on his way past the freight house and they walked uptown together. Wayne saw his circle of acquaintances grow from day to day, thanks to Arthur, and it wasn’t long before he could truthfully echo June’s sentiments and say that he “liked this yere place right smart.” And finally, as May was drawing to its end, he secured what he had hoped for from the first, an invitation to join the Chenango Base-Ball Club squad and show what he could do.