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this。
'
'Tell Hamilton to come with us。 I sure he rather ride in the
automobile。
'
Grandpapa had driven the wagon into town the day before。
They brought with them a load of produce； peaches and
cabbages and turnips； for Hamilton to sell in town。 All except
a sack of peaches had been marketed。
'Well； Benedict Mady； I see you riding home with me；' the old
man said。
Doctor Copeland climbed into the back of the wagon。 He was
weary as though his bones were made of lead。 His head
trembled and a sudden spasm of nausea made him lie down
flat on the rough boards。
'I right glad you coming；' Grandpapa said。 'You understand I
always had deep respect for scholars。 Deep respect I able to
overlook and forget a good many things if a man be a scholar。
I very glad to have a scholar like you in the fambly again。'
The wheels of the wagon creaked。 They were on the way。 'I
will return soon；' Doctor Copeland said。 'After only a month or
two I will return。'
'Hamilton he a right good scholar。 I think he favors you some。
He do all my figuring on paper for me and he read the
newspapers。 And Whitman I think he ghy be a scholar。 Right
now he able to read the Bible to me。 And do number work。
Small a child as he is。 I always had a deep respect for
scholars。'
The motion of the wagon jolted his back。 He looked up at the
branches overhead； and then when there was no shade he
covered his face with a handkerchief to shield his eyes from
the sun。 It was not possible that this could be the end。 Always
he had felt in him the strong； true
287
purpose。 For forty years his mission was his life and his life
was his mission。 And yet all remained to be done and nothing
was completed。
*Yes； Benedict Mady； I right glad to have you with us again。 I
been waiting to ask you about this peculiar feeling in my right
foot。 A queer feeling like my foot gone to sleep。 I taken 666
and rubbed it with liniment。 I hoping you will find me a good
treatment。'
'I will do what I can。'
。Yes； I glad to have you。 I believe in all Hnfolks sticking
together—blood kin and marriage kin。 I believe in all us
struggling along and helping each other out； and some day us
will have a reward in the Beyond。'
'Pshaw！' Doctor Copeland said bitterly。 'I believe in justice
now。'
'What that you say you believe in？ You speak so hoarse I ain't
able to hear you。'
'In justice for us。 Justice for us Negroes。1
'That right。'
He felt the fire in him and he could not be still。 He wanted to
sit up and speak in a loud voice—yet when he tried to raise
himself he could not find the strength。 The words in his heart
grew big and they would not be silent But the old man had
ceased to listen and there was no one to hear him。
。Git； Lee Jackson。 Git； Honey。 Pick up your feets and quit this
here poking。 Us got a long way to go。'
Afternoon
J AKE ran at a violent； clumsy pace。 He went through Weavers
Lane and then cut into a side alley； climbed a fence； and
hastened onward。 Nausea rose in his belly so that there was
the taste of vomit in his throat。 A barking dog chased beside
him until he stopped long enough to threaten it with a rock。
His eyes were wide with horror and he held his hand clapped
to his open mouth。
Christ！ So this was the finish。 A brawl。 A riot。 A fight with
every man for himself。 Bloody heads and eyes cut with broken
bottles。 Christ！ And the wheezy music of the flying…28
jinny above the noise。 The dropped hamburgers and cotton
candy and the screaming younguns。 And him in it all。 Fighting
blind with the dust and sun。 The sharp cut of teeth against his
knuckles。 And laughing。 Christ！ And the feeling that he had
let loose a wild； hard rhythm in him that wouldn't stop。 And
then looking close into the dead black face and not knowing。
Not even knowing if he had killed or not。 But wait。 Christ！
Nobody could have stopped it。
Jake slowed and jerked his head nervously to look behind him。
The alley was empty。 He vomited and wiped his mouth and
forehead with the sleeve of his shirt。 Afterward he rested for a
minute and felt better。 He had run for about eight blocks and
with short cuts there was about half a mile to go。 The
dizziness cleared in his head so that from all the wild feelings
he could remember facts。 He started off again； this time at a
steady jog。
Nobody could have stopped it。 All through the summer he had
stamped them out like sudden fires。 All but this one。 And this
fight nobody could have stopped。 It seemed to blaze up out of
nothing。 He had been working on the machinery of the swings
and had stopped to get a glass of water。 As he passed across
the grounds he saw a white boy and a Negro walking around
each other。 They were both drunk。 Half the crowd was drunk
that afternoon； for it was Saturday and the mills had run full
time that week。 The heat and the sun were sickening and there
was a heavy stink in the air。
He saw the two fighters close in on each other。 But he knew
that this was not the beginning。 He had felt a big fight coming
for a long time。 And the funny thing was he found time to
think of all this。 He stood watching for about five seconds
before he pushed into the crowd。 In that short time he thought
of many things。 He thought of Singer。 He thought of the sullen
summer afternoons and the black； hot nights； of all the fights
he had broken up and the quarrels he had hushed。
Then he saw the flash of a pocketknife in the sun。 He
shouldered through a knot of people and jumped on the back
of the Negro who held the knife。 The man went down with
him and they were on the ground together。 The smell of sweat
on the Negro was mixed with the heavy dust in
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his lungs。 Someone trampled on his legs and his head was
kicked。 By the time he got to his feet again the fight had
become general。 The Negroes were fighting the white men and
the white men were fighting the Negroes。 He saw clearly；
second by second。 The white boy who had picked the fight
seemed a kind of leader。 He was the leader of a gang that
came often to the show。 They were about sixteen years old
and they wore white duck trousers and fancy rayon polo shirts。
The Negroes fought back as best they could。 Some had razors。
He began to yell out words： Order！ Help！ Police！ But it was
like yelling at a breaking dam。 There was a terrible sound in
his ear—terrible because it was human and yet without words。
The sound rose to a roar that deafened him。 He was hit on the
head。 He could not see what went on around him。 He saw only
eyes and mouths and fists—wild eyes and half…closed eyes；
wet； loose mouths and clenched ones； black fists and white。
He grabbed a knife from a hand and caught an upraised fist。
Then the dust and the sun blinded him and the one thought in
his mind was to get out and find a telephone to call for help。
But he was caught。 And without knowing when it happened he
piled into the fight himself。 He hit out with his fists and felt
the soft sqush of wet mouths。 He fought with his eyes shut and
his head lowered。 A crazy sound came out of his throat。 He hit
with all his s