He passed vacant lots which lay open and inviting children to healthful play; but instead of marbles or leap-frog or ball, he found little boys in ragged knickerbockers huddled together on the ground, “shooting craps” with precocious avidity and quarrelling over the pennies that made the pitiful wagers. He heard glib profanity rolling from the lips of children who should have been stumbling through baby catechisms; and his heart ached for them.
He would have turned and gone back to his room, but the sound of shouts, laughter, and the tum-tum of a musical instrument drew him on down the street. At the turn of a corner, the place from which the noise emanated met his eyes. It was a rude frame building, low and unpainted. The panes in its windows whose places had not been supplied by sheets of tin were daubed a dingy red. Numerous kegs and bottles on the outside attested the nature of the place. The front door was open, but the interior was concealed by a gaudy curtain stretched across the entrance within. Over the door was the inscription, in straggling characters, “Sander’s Place;” and when he saw half-a-dozen Negroes enter, the minister knew instantly that he now beheld the colored saloon which was the frequenting-place of his hostess’s son ’Lias; and he wondered, if, as the mother said, her boy was not bad, how anything good could be preserved in such a place of evil.
The cries and boisterous laughter mingled with the strumming of the banjo and the shuffling of feet told him that they were engaged in one of their rude hoe-down dances. He had not passed a dozen paces beyond the door when the music was suddenly stopped, the sound of a quick blow followed, then ensued a scuffle, and a young fellow half ran, half fell through the open door. He was closely followed by a heavily built ruffian who was striking him as he ran. The young fellow was very much the weaker and slighter of the two, and was suffering great punishment. In an instant all the preacher’s sense of justice was stung into sudden life. Just as the brute was about to give his victim a blow that would have sent him into the gutter, he felt his arm grasped in a detaining hold and heard a commanding voice,—“Stop!”
He turned with increased fury upon this meddler, but his other wrist was caught and held in a vice-like grip. For a moment the two men looked into each other’s eyes. Hot words rose to the young man’s lips, but he choked them back. Until this moment he had deplored the possession of a spirit so easily fired that it had been a test of his manhood to keep from “slugging” on the football field; now he was glad of it. He did not attempt to strike the man, but stood holding his arms and meeting the brute glare with manly flashing eyes. Either the natural cowardice of the bully or something in his new opponent’s face had quelled the big fellow’s spirit, and he said doggedly: “Lemme go. I wasn’t a-go’n’ to kill him nohow, but ef I ketch him dancin’ with my gal anymo’, I’ll—” He cast a glance full of malice at his victim, who stood on the pavement a few feet away, as much amazed as the dumfounded crowd which thronged the door of “Sander’s Place.” Loosing his hold, the preacher turned, and, putting his hand on the young fellow’s shoulder, led him away.
For a time they walked on in silence. Dokesbury had to calm the tempest in his breast before he could trust his voice. After a while he said: “That fellow was making it pretty hot for you, my young friend. What had you done to him?”
“Nothin’,” replied the other. “I was jes’ dancin’ ’long an’ not thinkin’ ’bout him, when all of a sudden he hollered dat I had his gal an’ commenced hittin’ me.”
“He’s a bully and a coward, or he would not have made use of his superior strength in that way. What’s your name, friend?”
“’Lias Gray,” was the answer, which startled the minister into exclaiming,—
“What! are you Aunt Caroline’s son?”
“Yes, suh, I sho is; does you know my mothah?”