With a look of regret at his book, Kenneth settled back and prepared to listen.
“What world problem have you got on your mind now, Bob?”
“Don’t start to kidding me, Ken. I don’t see how you can shut your eyes to how coloured people are being treated here.”
“What’s wrong? Everything seems to me to be getting along as well as can be expected.”
“That’s because you don’t go out of the house unless you are hurrying to give somebody a pill or a dose of medicine. To-day I came by the school to get Mamie and bring her home. You ought to see the dump they call a school building. It’s a dirty old building that looks like it’ll fall down any time a hard wind comes along. All that’s inside is a rickety table, and some hard benches with no desks, and when it rains they have to send the children home, as the water stands two or three inches deep on the floor. Outside of Mamie they haven’t one teacher who’s gone any higher than the sixth or seventh grade—they have to take anybody who is willing to work for the twelve dollars a month they pay coloured teachers.”
Bob’s face had on it the look of discontent and resentment that was almost growing chronic.
“Well, what can we do about it? I’m afraid you’re getting to be a regular Atlas, trying to carry all the burdens of the world on your shoulders. I know things aren’t all they ought to be, but you and I can’t solve the problems. The race problem will be here long after we’re dead and gone.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, shut up that preachy tone of long-suffering patience, will you?—and forget your own little interests for a while. I know you think I’m silly to let these things worry me. But the reason why things are as bad as they are is just because the majority of Negroes are like you—always dodging anything that may make them unpopular with white folks. And that isn’t all. There’s a gang of white boys that hang around Ewing’s Store that meddle with every coloured girl that goes by. I was in the store to-day when Minnie Baxter passed by on her way to the post office, and that dirty little Jim Archer said something that made me boil all over. And it didn’t help any to know that if I had said a word to him, there would have been a fight, and I would have been beaten half to death if I hadn’t been killed.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that, too. What we ought to do is to try and keep these girls off of Lee Street, unless someone is with them. If we weren’t living in the South, we might do something. But here we are, and as long as we stay here, we’ve got to swallow a lot of these things and stay to ourselves.”
“But, Ken, it isn’t always convenient for someone to go downtown with them. I’ll tell you what let’s do. Let’s get the better class of coloured people together like Reverend Wilson, Mr. Graham, Mr. Adams, and some others, and form a Coloured Protective League here in Central City. We can then take up these cases and see if something can’t be done to remedy them.”