“Son, dat’s jes’ zactly like de man whut wuz in jail and his frien’ come by and ast him whut dey put him in jail for. When de man in jail tol’ him whut he wuz ‘cused of, de man on de outside said: ’Dey can’t put you in jail for dat! De man dat was lookin’ out at him th’u’ de bars laughed and said: ‘But I’se in jail!’ An’ dat’s de way ‘tis wif de cullud folks in de Souf. Dey’s lots of things dey can’t do to ’em but dese white folks does it jes’ de same. I reckon you got a lot of things t’ learn yet, Doc, spite of goin’ up Nawth t’ study.”
Kenneth felt properly rebuked by this humble man who, though illiterate, was far from being ignorant. He joined in, but not very heartily, at the general laughter at Tucker’s homely sally.
Mr. Wilson, as acting chairman, ended the discussion by calling on Tom Tracy. Tracy was a much younger man than Tucker and was about Kenneth’s age. Tall, well built, intelligent looking, his dark brown face had worn a scowl of discontent and resentment while Tucker had been talking. He began talking in a clear voice that but poorly masked the bitterness he felt but which he tried to keep out of his voice. Older men like Mr. Tucker were always quick to rebuke any sign of “uppishness” in the younger generation.
“I graduated from Tuskegee three years ago. My old mother worked herself almost to death to keep me in school, and I came back here determined to earn enough money to let her rest the balance of her life. But she and my father had been living all their lives just like Mr. Tucker here, and they didn’t have anything to give me a start. So I went to work on shares, taking that thirty acres that joins on to Mr. Tucker’s farm on the South. I took this land that wasn’t thought to be any good, because it had been exhausted through overworking it year after year. I bought some new ploughs and fixed it up fine. I thought I could put the things I learned at Tuskegee into practice and in a couple of years pay off all I owed. But instead of doing that, I’m getting deeper in debt every year. I rent my place from Ed Stewart and he knows that I know he’s cheating and robbing and lying to me, but when I try to show him where he is wrong in his figures, all he does is to get mad and start to cussing me and telling me that if I don’t keep a civil tongue in my head, the Ku Klux Klan will be hearing about this ‘sassy young nigger Tracy’ and I’ll wish I had kept my mouth shut. I’m getting sick of the whole thing, too. If it wasn’t for the old folks, I expect I’d ‘a’ started something long ago. They are all talking about me being a dangerous character out my way already. Say I’m too ‘uppity’ and I need to be taught a lesson to show me that ‘niggers must stay in their places.’”
Tracy finished speaking in a tone that was almost a shout. It could be seen that he was very near the breaking-point from brooding over the wrongs he had suffered.
Mr. Phillips, who had said nothing, broke in with a question.
“Tom, why don’t you move away from Ed Stewart’s place if he doesn’t treat you right?”
Tracy replied bitterly:
“Yes, suppose I tried to leave, what would happen? The same day I left, Sheriff Parker would come and get me. They’d put me on trial for jumping my contract and fine me. Old Stewart would be in court to testify against me. He’d pay my fine and then I’d have to go back to Stewart’s place and work a year or two for nothing, paying off the fine. A fat chance I’ve got with the cards all stacked against me!”
Mr. Young, of the Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church, nodded assent to Tracy’s statement.