The president of the Trade Unions’ City Central was at first included among the guests, but when he heard that the meeting was to be at a colored home and include a supper, he reneged. Mr. Murphy habitually ate with his knife and in his shirt sleeves and he didn’t propose “to have no niggers puttin’ on airs over him.” At the same time the unions must be represented; so the settlement worker was chosen at Mrs. Beech’s suggestion.
Sammy had pointed out rather perfunctorily that it might be a mistake not to include some radicals and that in any event they might send a delegation if they heard of the conference. Sara merely shrugged her shoulders, but Sammy saw to it that the left-wing unions did hear of the conference and of their exclusion.
The stage was set deftly in the large reception room opening in front on the glass-enclosed veranda. There was a little orchestra concealed here behind the ferns, and it was to play now and then while the company was gathering and afterward while they were eating. There were cigarettes and punch, and as Mr. Corruthers soon discovered, there were two kinds of punch. In the main reception room were soft chairs and a big couch, while thick portières closed off the dining-room and the entrance hall. To the right was the door to the little library, and here Matthew held his interviews, the door standing ajar.
Matthew sat beside a little table in a straight chair. There were pens, blotters, and writing materials, and all over, soft reflected lights. Sara and Sammy had general charge, and both were in their element. The company gathered rather promptly. Sara stood in the main parlor before the portières that veiled the dining-room, where she could receive the guests, entertain them, and send them to consultation with Matthew. Sammy stood between the hall and the reception room where he could welcome the guests, overlook the assembly, and keep his eye on Corruthers.
Everybody was overanxious to please, but the difficulties were enormous. There was no common center of small talk to unite black and white, educated and self-made. The current tittle-tattle of the physician’s and minister’s wives was not only Greek to the banker and the president of the City Club, but not at all clear to the wives of the colored politicians. The conversation between Mr. Cadwalader and the Republican bosses was a bit forced. Perhaps only in the case of the intelligent white settlement worker and the colored representatives of the Women’s Clubs was a new, purely delightful field of common interest discovered.
In Chicago as elsewhere, between white and colored, the obvious common ground was the Negro problem, and this both parties tried desperately to avoid and yet could not. They were always veering toward it. The editor and the banker sought to compare their respective conceptions of finance. But they never really got within understanding distance. Even Sara was at times out of her depth, in a serious definite conversation. With a particular person whom she knew or had measured she could shine. But the light and easy guidance of varied conversation in an assembly of such elements as these was rather beyond her. She hurried here and there, making a very complete and pleasing figure in her flesh-colored chiffon evening frock. But she was not quite at ease.
Sammy’s finesse helped to save the day, or rather the night. He had real humor of a kindly sort, and shrewd knowledge of practically everybody present. He supplied the light, frank touch. He subtly separated, grouped, entertained, and reseparated the individuals with rare psychology. He really did his best, and with as little selfishness as he was capable of showing.
The Republican boss, the banker, and the state official were among the earliest arrivals. They sat down with Matthew and entered into earnest conversation. Evidently, they were reading over the latest draft of the proposed platform. Sara was taut and nervous. She tried not to listen, but she could not help watching. She saw Matthew shift the papers until he exposed one that lay at the bottom. The two gentlemen read it and smiled. Quite carelessly and after continued conversation, Mr. Graham absently put the paper in his pocket. By and by they arose and mingled with the other guests. They were all smiling. The boss whispered to Sara that he was satisfied, perfectly satisfied. She knew Matthew had signed the paper.
Sara was radiant. She personally escorted the banker to a seat beside the president of the City Club. She did not know that these two were particularly uncongenial, but they were both well-bred and kept up polite conversation until Mrs. Beech excused herself to talk with Matthew. Matthew was a figure distraught and absentminded. His dress was much too negligent and careless to suit Sara, although he had put on his dinner jacket. Still, as Sara looked him over now and then, he did not make an altogether bad appearance. There was a certain inherent polish, an evidence of breeding which Sara always recognized with keen delight. It seemed easily to rise to the surface on occasions of this sort. Mr. Cadwalader and Mrs. Beech were now talking with Matthew. They seemed at first a little disturbed, but Sara was pleased to note that Matthew had aroused himself and was talking rather quickly and nervously but impressively. Evidently the two representatives of the liberal groups liked what he said. They called in the settlement worker. When at last they arose, all of them seemed pleased.
“I think,” said the president of the City Club, “we have come to a good understanding.”
“Really,” said Mr. Cadwalader, “much better than I had hoped for. You can count on us.”
Sara sighed. The thing was done. Of course, there was the difficulty of those radical Labor people, but these she regarded as on the whole the least difficult of the three groups. She would perhaps
