The judge spat disgustedly.
“Now about this plan you got—have you thought about the chances of your being misunderstood? Suppose some of these ornery whites get it into their heads you’re trying to start trouble between the races. What’re you going to do then?” he asked.
“That’s just why we want to do the job right,” answered Kenneth. “We want to do everything legally so there can’t be any wrong ideas about the society. I know every time coloured people start forming any kind of an organization besides a church or a burial society, there are white people who begin to get suspicious and think that Negroes are organizing to start some mischief. That’s why we want you and the other good white people to know all about our plans from the start.”
“I ain’t trying to discourage you none,” replied Judge Stevenson doubtfully, “but do you think you are wise in starting coloured folks to thinking about organizing when this Klan’s raising hell all over the South?”
“How else are we going to do anything?” asked Kenneth. “Farmers have been robbed so long they are getting tired of it. If something isn’t done, there’s going to be lots more trouble than a society like ours can possibly cause. This share-cropping business causes more trouble than any other thing that’s done to Negroes. Lynching is mighty bad, but after all only a few Negroes are lynched a year, while thousands are robbed every year of their lives.”
“That’s so. That’s so,” agreed the judge, but the doubt had not been dispelled from his voice nor removed from his face. He removed his cigar from his mouth, viewed its mangled appearance through much chewing upon it, threw it with an expression of disgust out of the window, narrowly missing a man passing in the street below. He chuckled as he placed a fresh cigar in his mouth.
“’Taint no harm in trying, though,” he said, half to himself.
“Besides, our plan is to enlist the support of every white man in the county who stands for something,” went on Kenneth, eager to gain the old man as a staunch ally. “We know there’ll be opposition from some of the landlords and merchants and bankers who are making money off this system, but we figure there are enough decent white people here to help us through. …”
“Mebbe so. Mebbe so,” replied the judge, though there was a distinct note of doubt in his voice now. “I wouldn’t be too sure, though. I wouldn’t be too sure.”
“But, Judge⸺” interrupted Kenneth. The judge silenced him with a movement of his hand.