“And yet the South is trying to solve the race problem and leave educated Negroes like Harper entirely out of the equation. It’s about time we woke up.”
CHAPTER XX
Early Friday morning Kenneth left for Central City, before the Atlanta Constitution appeared on the streets for sale. Soon after his train left Macon on the way South, the engine blew out a cylinder head. They remained there until another could be dispatched from Macon to replace it. There had come to his stopping-place in Atlanta, a few minutes after he had left, a telegram which had been sent from a town twenty miles distant from Central City, telling him to remain in Atlanta until further notice. Jane had paid a man liberally to drive through the country to get the telegram off in time. It would not have done to send such a wire from Central City. All these things had so happened as though the very fates themselves were in league against Kenneth.
In total ignorance of what had happened to Mamie and Bob and the eventful chain of happenings since he had left Central City three days before, Kenneth sat in the stuffy, odorous, and dirty Jim Crow car, busied with his thoughts. A noisy and malodorous Negro sat next to him who seemed to know some person at every one of the thousand and one stations at which they stopped. Kenneth sat next to the window. His companion leaned over him to stick his head out of the window to shout loud-mouthed and good-natured greetings to his friends on the ground. At those few stations where he knew no one, he would ask foolish, sometimes humorous questions of those he did not know. Kenneth stood it as long as he could and then requested the troublesome fellow to be less annoying. Kenneth, though vexed, was amused at the man’s complaint to another of his kind behind him. “Humph!” he grunted. “Tha’s whut I say ‘bout a dressed-up nigger—thinks he owns the train. I paid jes’ as much,” he declared more aggressively, “as he did, an’ ef he don’t like it, he can git off and walk.” At this, a long laugh at his own witty remark, but Kenneth looked out of the window and paid no attention to him. His thoughts were busy with other things.
Every few minutes he would feel the lump in the lower right-hand vest-pocket with a touch that was almost loving in its tenderness. He hoped Jane would like the ring—it had cost a little more than he had expected to pay or could afford, but the best was none too good for a girl like her. He could see Jane’s eyes now when he opened the little box and she for the first time saw the glittering facets of the beautiful stone. He smiled in anticipation of her joy. And then he’d put it on her finger and she’d put her arms around his neck and he’d feel again her warm, soft, passionate, clinging lips. Lucky he didn’t get too deeply tied up with that girl years ago in New York. She had kissed as though she’d had long practice at it. Too sophisticated—nothing like Jane. Jane wasn’t experienced in kissing—but the thrill it gave him! It was funny about girls. Most of them didn’ think a kiss meant very much. He had kissed one—two—three—four—oh, lots of them! But all of them put together couldn’t begin to equal in warmth, the vividness of one kiss from Jane.
And just think of it—six weeks from now, and Jane would be Mrs. Kenneth B. Harper! My, but that sounded good! Reverend Wilson would marry them. Then they’d go to Atlantic City for their honeymoon.
Hoped the cotton crop would turn out well. Then he’d be able to collect some of those long-outstanding accounts from the farmers. That money would come in mighty handy right now. That’s the devil of being a country doctor. You had to wait until the cotton crop was gathered and sold before you could collect the bulk of what’s due you. And if the cotton failed or the market was so flooded the price was down, you’d have to wait on the most of them until the next year. Sometimes two or three years. Dr. Johnson over at Vidalia had some accounts that’re six years old. Oh, well, they’re good anyway. Couldn’t expect to practise in the country districts unless you were willing to wait for your money.
Wonder why this darned train doesn’t make better time. Slow as all outdoors. Like molasses in winter-time. If it only gets in on time, I’ll surprise Jane by running in on her on the way home. Due in at five-fifty. Let’s see, it’s four-thirty now. Where are we now? Hoopersville. Nearly ninety miles yet to go. Good Lord, won’t get in until nearly eight o’clock! Hope we won’t lose any more time. Don’t see why so darned many people are travelling to-day anyhow. Just slows up the train, getting on and off with their ten bundles and suitcases each.
Wonder how Bob feels about going to school.
Hope he’ll like the shirts I bought him. Ought to. Cost four dollars apiece. Prices are certainly high. Few years ago you could get the best shirts on the market for a dollar and a half apiece—not more than two dollars.