"Well, many things," Sidney resumed calmly. "For instance: I am in the habit of buying The Climax, which is, as you know, published in New York, and edited by a man who used to be professor of sociology in one of your colleges. Now, in all the places I have been" (he didn't refer to the north, realizing that it would cause more argument not bearing on the discussion), "I have found this magazine much in circulation among our people; but here, at only one place have I found it. You appreciate that the Negro population of this town is to exceed, without doubt, sixty thousand. It receives but fifty copies a month, and does not sell all of them—of course there are annual subscribers; but, so there are everywhere else as well."
"Now—" all began with upraised hand, but Sidney stopped them with:
"I've made this remark, so hear me out, that I may show that I am justified in making it."
They were quiet, but impatient.
"You have several large drug stores, doing a creditable business in the city. Omitting a few operated by white men in Negro neighborhoods, you will hardly find one that does not carry a goodly stock of magazines for his trade. Not a colored drug store carries one. Tompkins, other than The Climax, does not sell any. Now, gentlemen, with such a population as you have," (he was very serious now), "is it consistent to believe that these black people read in proportion to what they should, when there is so little current demand for literature?"
The outburst that followed this was too intense to describe. The composure that was in keeping with their appearance and training was, for the time, lost. Everybody had something to say to the contrary, and, at the same time.
"I have five hundred dollars worth of books in my house," cried Dickson.
"I take The Climax, and have since it began publication," cried still another.
"Derwin, its editor, is a traitor to his race, and I can prove it," persisted another.
"Theah ain' nothin' in it, nohow," yelled another whose English was not the best.