Ten minutes later, some one tore into the house, and turned the key of the door so quickly, that it seemed like an automatic spring lock.
It was John Moore.
"Let's go down to the drug store," suggested Wyeth. Legs didn't hang out in that direction, so Glenview was the recipient of the suggestion. He couldn't, so, presently, Wyeth went alone.
"They are going to fall down in both those towns, on the securing of a Y.M.C.A. for Negroes, and I knew they would when they started," the druggist was saying, when Wyeth entered.
"Negroes can secure nothing but churches down south," commented another.
"They have only a few weeks left, before the time limit on the appropriations from the Jew expires. He offered twenty-five thousand to any association where the people secured an additional seventy-five thousand. Now six months after the campaign for the association in Grantville," so said a mail clerk who ran to that city, "less than five thousand in cash, out of a total of more than thirty-three thousand dollars subscribed, has been collected to date. How can this—what is the name of the secretary of the proposed association—yes, I have it, Jacobs—Rev. Wilson Jacobs, figure they will be able to secure one in that town?"
"It's all stuff. Nigga's down here would do nothing with an association no way," said the druggist.
"I stopped at the Y.M.C.A. when I was in Chicago this summer," said the bookkeeper in the Dime Savings Bank. "It appears to be conducted with great success, and is surely a fine, clean, up-to-date place to stop, regardless of the fact that almost everything is open to Negroes in that city."
"Yes, but the Negroes in Chicago are civilized," said another. "These Negroes down here would have to have a half dozen police standing around to keep order, if they had one."
"But don't you feel such a thing in this town would act as a great moral benefit?" suggested Wyeth, at this juncture.