“I ain’t serving ’em in my place,” Mr. Vivian had proclaimed, with a frank disregard of at least the spirit of the fifteenth amendment.
The sweets dispensed by Mr. Vivian drew the black people as molasses does the fly, and South Ridgefield had a large percentage of negro residents. For a time hardly a day passed without noisy wrangles. Comfortably seated in full view and hearing of such disputes, the elect were greatly edified thereby. Of late, such disturbances had decreased, and, as they had ended always in favor of the confectioner, he felt assured that he had settled the race issue in his own place at least.
Mr. Vivian waited today behind his marble topped counter and supervised his numerous assistants. Through the front windows he watched the multitude which had assembled to view the minstrel parade disperse. He observed an influx of gilded youth over his threshold. One listening to explanations would have gathered that the unusual number present was not due to interest in such low concerns as minstrel bands. Through untoward events the pageant had obtruded itself, as it were, into blasé vision.
Mr. Vivian’s eyes, as has been suggested, rested upon the street. Into his optical angle rolled the Dale car. It was well known to the confectioner. Often it paused for long periods before his place while Virginia refreshed herself within. It was his delight, at these times, to greet the maiden with profound respect, as his heart swelled with pride. The car of Obadiah Dale, the wealthiest, and in consequence, in Mr. Vivian’s judgment, the peak of the town’s social strata, awaited without. Within the house of Vivian, the heiress partook of Vivian products. What could be more appropriate?
The spectacle of the big machine given up to the conveyance of this small maiden had always pleased Mr. Vivian. There was a cavalier disregard of the cost of gasoline, oil, and tires which appealed to him. Today, the large passenger list astonished him, and, even as the number impressed him, their aspect amazed him.
“Negroes,” he gasped, “coming here!” There are moments in every life which have far-reaching consequences. The confectioner faced one.
The car stopped at the Vivian door. The glad shouts of infants penetrated the halls set apart for the fashionable. They offended the ears of the elect.
“There is Virginia Dale and those colored kids with whom she was making a spectacle of herself in the minstrel parade,” sneered an excited girl. “If she brings them in here, I’ll leave and never come back.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” a man of the world, of sixteen, calmed her. “Old Viv won’t stand for any foolishness. You watch him.”
“Virginia Dale has lived so long in that big house with only colored people that she likes them for friends,” declared another girl contemptuously. “Too good to associate with any of the young people of this town, she parades around like that. I think it is disgusting myself and I would tell her so, for very little.”