Then Dr. Gilbo was suddenly galvanized into action. He sprang up from his seat and knocked his hat on the floor. He jerked his hands in and out of his pockets, seeking for something, and in his eagerness he spilled something out of each pocket.
Suddenly he found what he wanted and held it up—a little square box, such as jewelers use. Taking the top from the box, he brought out a small gold medal about the size of a postage stamp, and almost as thin.
“My colored friends,” Dr. Gilbo announced in a shrill, high voice. “This gold medal which you behold is bestowed upon the deserving pupils of the Silliway Female Institute as a reward of merit. At our graduating exercises last June twenty-five of these medals were given away, but it happened that no pupil earned the one which I hold in my hand. It is now my pleasure to confer this medal on Dr. Vinegar Atts!”
When Dr. Gilbo walked across the platform and pinned his medal upon the lapel of Vinegar’s long-tailed preaching-coat, there is no language to describe the whoop of adulation which sprang from the throats of that delighted audience.
Vinegar Atts sat down and wiped the tears from his eyes upon his coat sleeve.
“Us would like to hear a speech from de Revun Dr. Vinegar Atts!” Hitch Diamond bellowed.
The prince of platform spellbinders stood up and made a speech of two words, but in the intonation of those two words he comprised all that a negro can express of eloquent gratitude:
“Bless Gawd!”
He sat down for the last time in his broken pulpit chair, and his powerful shoulders quivered with emotion. The next day he put a new chair in its place, adorned his pulpit with an electric reading lamp, and recovered his gift of gab.
“Lodge brudders, attention!” Hitch Diamond bellowed. “Give de good-night salute an’ sing de last verse!”