“Well—maybe today, Miss Cramp. But what about tomorrow?”
“What can you mean?”
“Wouldn’t it be funny, Miss Cramp, if the Negro let his fair-skinned brother—or cousin, to be a trifle more exact—do all the so-called serious work? Build bridges, dig canals, capture natural forces, fly airplanes, amass wealth, evolve society—these are serious things. Wouldn’t it be amusing if the Negro let others worry their brains out devising and developing the civilized luxuries of life—while he spent his time simply living, developing nothing but his capacity for enjoyment; and then when the job was finished, stepped in and took complete possession? Suppose—just suppose, for one can never know—that this irrepressible laughter, this resiliency, is caused by the confidence that he will reap what his oppressors have sown?”
“But that’s impossible. Where will he ever get the power to take complete possession?”
“Power? Sheer force of numbers—the overwhelming majority of dark skins in the earth. Together with the—er—the effect of climate. If the climate keeps changing, or if people keep exposing themselves to changes in climate, the time will eventually come when there won’t be but a few pure skins left—Now won’t it be positively uproarious if the serious achievements reach their height about then?”
“Well,” she said after a moment, “I don’t think either you or I need worry over that, Mr. Merrit. It’s altogether too remote. If I can’t see that far, I doubt that any Negro can. It need not worry you at all.”
“Quite right. Nobody needs worry over any of it—past, present, or future. Its course is unchangeable by anything so futile as people’s worry. That’s the joker in this very occasion, Miss Cramp. Uplift the Negro? Why, his position is the most profoundly strategic on earth.”
“You really think so?”
“He that is last shall be first.”
“Well, that would certainly be awful, wouldn’t it?”
There was silence between them.
Presently Miss Cramp remembered that Merrit had been presented to her as an inured bachelor. She said:
“Mr. Merrit, these are serious questions. We must thresh them out some time.”
“I should like nothing better,” he said.
“Do you spend the summer in town?”
“I’m leaving for the country tomorrow but I’ll be back the end of the summer.”
“Then you must come and see me on your return. We shall have so much to discuss.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” he said, and she saw from the present pleasure in his eyes that he must mean what he was saying.
It gave her a thrill, “Summers,” she sighed, “are so long, aren’t they?”
“My maid,” said Miss Cramp, “is a Negress. The first one I have ever had, and I must say, the best. She is very pretty, too. She is so different from what one thinks of on hearing the term, Negress. Extremely pretty, really.”
“And she remains a maid?”
“Why not? It’s honest work and very good pay.”
“The pretty ones usually prefer to go on the stage.”
“Oh, Linda wouldn’t think of any such thing. You see she was raised in an Episcopal Orphanage and seems to be rather religious—I was quite glad to learn how many Negroes are Episcopalian. I didn’t know there were any, did you?”
“Are there?”
“A large number, from what this girl says. And what do you think Mr. Merrit? Religious as she is, she never sings spirituals!”
“No? I can’t believe it. But she must have some vices?”
“Her only recreation is dancing. Her rector seems to be a very up-to-date person. There are weekly affairs at her church community center and she always goes.”
“Must be an awfully dull person.”
“On the contrary, extremely interesting. It was through her that I learned of the General Improvement Association. No doubt she is here tonight. In fact, I thought I saw her once just now, down there on the floor, dancing.”
She looked sharply for a prolonged moment, then suddenly exclaimed, “I did too! There she is, there. That tall one in the gypsy costume—isn’t she unusual?”
“The one just starting to dance with the big chap in gray?”
“Yes.”
Merrit too looked sharply. Appreciation of unfamiliar features at that distance in a crowd was difficult, but—
“I’ve seen that girl somewhere. You say she’s your maid?”
“I’m positive that’s Linda.”
A moment’s rumination; then he remembered. Slowly over his face came an expression of elation far more than commensurate with the recognition.
“Miss Cramp,” he said, “do you by any chance live on Court Avenue?”
“Yes, I do.” She was extremely well pleased. “I was about to give you my address. However did you know?”
“Why, Miss Cramp,” there was no mistaking his joy, “we’re neighbors!”
“Really? Why, Mr. Merrit!”
“You live at 309, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“And I live at 313—that is I will when I come back to town.”
“How lovely! But—how—?”
“I saw that girl go into your house one morning when I was having some things moved in. She had her own key.”
“Well, isn’t this nice, Mr. Merrit.” She laughed. “I suppose when you saw Linda come in like that, with her own key, you thought you might even have got into a Negro neighborhood?”
“I admit, I wondered.”
“That would have been tragic.” She lowered her voice. “I can imagine nothing more awful. To help them is quite all right. To live beside them is quite another matter.”
“It is indeed, Miss Cramp. It is indeed.”
“You need never have any fear of that in Court Avenue. Frankly, we are rather exclusive, you know.”
“I had that in mind when I purchased.”
“And to think we are next door neighbors, Mr. Merrit.”
They beamed at each other, each in the delight of his own withheld motive, his own private anticipations; a tableau that was soon interrupted by the noisy return of the two couples that had been dancing. Whereupon, rather suddenly it seemed, Merrit decided that he must leave. He rose to go.
“I shall look forward to your call,” she reminded.
“If I could only be sure you were doing that,” said he, “you’ve no idea the pleasure ’twould give me.”
“You can be sure,” she said.
As he left, he chuckled and chided himself:
“Damn shame to worry that poor woman like that—she’ll die before the night’s over. Somebody’ll tell her sure.”
