Bles Alwyn hurried up to Senator Smith’s office, hoping to hear something about the school; perhaps even about—but he stopped with a sigh, and sat down in the anteroom. He was kept waiting a few moments while Senator Smith, the chairman, and one other member of the subcommittee had a word.
“Now, I don’t know the young man, mind you,” said the Senator; “but he’s strongly recommended.”
“What shall we offer him?” asked the chairman.
“Try him at twenty-five dollars a speech. If he balks, raise to fifty dollars, but no more.”
They summoned the young man. The chairman produced cigars.
“I don’t smoke,” said Bles apologetically.
“Well, we haven’t anything to drink,” said the chairman. But Senator Smith broke in, taking up at once the paramount interest.
“Mr. Alwyn, as you know, the Democrats are making an effort to get the Negro vote in this campaign. Now, I know the disadvantages and wrongs which black men in this land are suffering. I believe the Republicans ought to do more to defend them, and I’m satisfied they will; but I doubt if the way to get Negro rights is to vote for those who took them away.”
“I agree with you perfectly,” said Bles.
“I understand you do, and that you made an unusually fine speech on the subject the other night.”
“Thank you, sir.” This was a good deal more than Bles had expected, and he was embarrassed.
“Well, now, we think you’re just the man to take the stump during September and October and convince the colored people of their real interests.”
“I doubt if I could, sir; I’m not a speaker. In fact, that was my first public speech.”
“So much the better. Are you willing to try?”
“Why, yes, sir; but I could hardly afford to give up my position.”
“We’ll arrange for a leave of absence.”
“Then I’ll try, sir.”
“What would you expect as pay?”
“I suppose my salary would stop?”
“I mean in addition to that.”
“Oh, nothing, sir; I’d be glad to do the work.”
The chairman nearly choked; sitting back, he eyed the young man. Either they were dealing with a fool, or else a very astute politician. If the former, how far could they trust him; if the latter, what was his game?
“Of course, there’ll be considerable travelling,” the chairman ventured, looking reflectively out of the window.
“Yes, sir, I suppose so.”
“We might pay the railroad fare.”
“Thank you, sir. When shall I begin?”
The chairman consulted his calendar.
“Suppose you hold yourself in readiness for one week from today.”
“All right,” and Bles rose. “Good day, gentlemen.”
But the chairman was still puzzled.
“Now, what’s his game?” he asked helplessly.
“He may be honest,” offered Senator Smith, contemplating the door almost wistfully.
The campaign progressed. The National Republican Committee said little about the Negro revolt and affected to ignore it. The papers were silent. Underneath this calm, however, the activity was redoubled. The prominent Negroes were carefully catalogued, written to, and put under personal influence. The Negro papers were quietly subsidized, and they began to ridicule and reproach the new leaders.
As the Fall progressed, mass-meetings were held in Washington and the small towns. Larger and larger ones were projected, and more and more Alwyn was pushed to the front. He was developing into a most effective speaker. He had the voice, the presence, the ideas, and above all he was intensely in earnest. There were other colored orators with voice, presence, and eloquence; but their people knew their record and discounted them. Alwyn was new, clear, and sincere, and the black folk hung on his words. Large and larger crowds greeted him until he was the central figure in a half dozen great negro mass-meetings in the chief cities of the country, culminating in New York the night before election. Perhaps the secret newspaper work, the personal advice of employers and friends, and the liberal distribution of cash, would have delivered a large part of the Negro vote to the Republican candidate. Perhaps—but there was a doubt. With the work of Alwyn, however, all doubt disappeared, and there was little reason for denying that the new President walked into the White House through the instrumentality of an unknown Georgia Negro, little past his majority. This is what Senator Smith said to Mr. Easterly; what Miss Wynn said to herself; and it was what Mrs. Vanderpool remarked to Zora as Zora was combing her hair on the Wednesday after election.
Zora murmured an indistinct response. As already something of the beauty of the world had found question and answer in her soul, and as she began to realize how the world had waxed old in thought and stature, so now in their last days a sense of the power of men, as set over against the immensity and force of their surroundings, became real to her. She had begun to read of the lives and doing of those called great, and in her mind a plan was forming. She saw herself standing dim within the shadows, directing the growing power of a man: a man who would be great as the world counted greatness, rich, high in position, powerful—wonderful because his face was black. He would never see her; never know how she worked and planned, save perhaps at last, in that supreme moment as she passed, her soul would cry to his, “Redeemed!” And he would understand.
All this she was thinking and weaving; not clearly and definitely, but in great blurred clouds of thought of things as she said slowly:
“He should have a great position for this.”
“Why, certainly,” Mrs. Vanderpool agreed, and then curiously: “What?”
Zora considered. “Negroes,” she said, “have been Registers of the Treasury, and Recorders of Deeds here in Washington, and Douglas was Marshal; but I want Bles—” she paused and started again. “Those are not great enough for Mr. Alwyn; he should have an office so important that Negroes would not think of
