One day shortly after, Wyeth happened in at the druggist's place, the hot bed of argument. He inquired why a few magazines were not carried in stock.
"Hell!" cried that one, throwing his hands up in a gesture of despair and mingled disgust, "nigga's don't read."
The following Sunday morning, when the drug store was full, he happened to mention a new book he had, and which many of the idlers were inspecting, one by one, asking to borrow it when he was through. He suggested that it was on sale uptown, then quoted the words of the clerk, who had remarked that he, Wyeth, bought more books than did the rest of the colored people put together.
He was hooted down, so there was no argument. Each was positive that his friend had bought one; while that friend was likewise of the same opinion. And of the many, almost every one had read the book he wrote, having borrowed it from someone who had bought it. The druggist then offered an excuse for the absence of literature at his store, by declaring that almost all the people subscribed, and the same came through mail.
Miss Palmer and he were certainly very forgetful.
Literature was a dead issue, that could not be denied; but whiskey was not.
Effingham had no library for its black people, and they were not allowed the privilege of the white. Yet a part of their tax was paid to support the same. Still, no one gave that much thought, insofar as Wyeth could ascertain. When he mentioned it to the teachers, almost without exception they replied: "No use. Negroes don't read." And it was so everywhere. Yet every class but the doctors and teachers purchased The Tempest, when it was brought to their attention, and Wyeth even sold to three of these (two doctors and one teacher) in Effingham that summer.
No, no one he met had any worry about a library; but thousands of black children ran wild day by day upon their streets, went to jail in great numbers before they were of age, and filled convict camps as members of chain gangs long before they could be called even young men. There was no library, nor was there a park; but there were plenty of other places conducive to crime. And still Effingham had more than a hundred Negro churches.
"Can you not realize, that in your absence of such necessities for the training of these little black children, that you are growing children for the chain gang every day?" But this never aroused any visible concern. And sometimes they did say, emphatically:
"Aw, we don't need no library; and if we had a park for colored people, they would do nothing but fight in it." And still others would cry: "Git religion! 'n' read d' Bible; pr'pare y'self fo' Heaben." And still others were in disgust, as they replied: "A nigga ain' going to 'mount to nothin' nohow, so what's the use?"