Kenneth found his practice growing. His days were filled with his work. One man viewed his growing practice with bitterness. It was Dr. Williams, resentful of the small figure he had cut in the episode in Kenneth’s office, which had become known all over Central City. Of a petty and vindictive nature, he bided his time until he could force atonement from the upstart who had so presumptuously insulted and belittled him, the Beau Brummel, the leading physician, the prominent coloured citizen. But Kenneth, if he knew of the hatred in the man’s heart, was supremely oblivious of it.
The morning after his operation on Mrs. Bradley, he added another to the list of those who did not wish him well. He had taken the bottle of alcohol containing Mrs. Bradley’s appendix to Dr. Bennett to show that worthy that he had been right, after all, in his diagnosis. He found him seated in his office, Dr. Bennett, with little apparent interest, glanced at the bottle.
“Humph!” he ejaculated, aiming at the cuspidor and letting fly a thin stream of tobacco juice which accurately met its mark. “You never can tell what’s wrong with a nigger anyhow. They ain’t got nacheral diseases like white folks. A hoss doctor can treat ’em better’n one that treats humans. I always said that a nigger’s more animal than human. …”
Kenneth had been eager to discuss the case of Mrs. Bradley with his fellow practitioner. He had not even been asked to sit down by Dr. Bennett. He realized for the first time that in spite of the superiority of his medical training to that of Dr. Bennett’s, the latter did not recognize him as a qualified physician, but only as a “nigger doctor.” Making some excuse, he left the house. Dr. Bennett turned back to the local paper he had been reading when Kenneth entered, took a fresh chew of tobacco from the plug in his hip pocket, grunted, and remarked: “A damned nigger telling me I don’t know medicine!”
IV
Two months passed by. Kenneth had begun to secure more patients than he could very well handle. Already he was kept busier than Dr. Williams though there was enough practice for both of them. Kenneth soon began to tire of treating minor ailments and longed to reach the time when he could give up his general practice and devote his time to surgery. Except for the delivery of the babies that came with amazing rapidity in the community, he did little else than treat colic, minor cuts, children’s diseases, with an occasional case of tuberculosis. More frequently he treated for venereal diseases, though this latter was even more distasteful to him than general practice while at the same time more remunerative.
A new source of practice and revenue began gradually to grow. The main entrance to his office was on Lee Street. This door was some fifty feet back from Lee Street, and the overhanging branches of the elms cut off completely the light from the street lamp at the corner. One night, as he sat reading in his office, there came a knock at his door. Opening it, he found standing there Roy Ewing. Ewing had inherited the general merchandise store bearing his name from his father, was a deacon in the largest Baptist Church in Central City, was president of the Central City Chamber of Commerce, and was regarded as a leading citizen.
Kenneth gazed at his caller in some surprise.
“Hello, Ken. Anybody around?”
On being assured that he was alone, Ewing entered, brushing by Kenneth to get out of the glare of the light. Kenneth followed him into the office, meanwhile asking his caller what he could do for him.
“Ken, I’ve got a little job I want you to do for me. I’m in a little trouble. Went up to Macon last month with Bill Jackson, and we had a little fun. I guess I took too much liquor. We went by a place Bill knew about where there were some girls. I took a fancy to a little girl from Atlanta who told me she had slipped away from home and her folks thought she was visiting her cousins at Forsyth. Anyhow, I thought everything was all right, but I’m in a bad way and I want you to treat me. I can’t go to Dr. Bennett ’cause I don’t want him to know about it. I’ll take care of you all right, and if you get me fixed up I’ll pay you well.”
Kenneth looked at him in amazement. Roy Ewing, acknowledged leader of the “superior race”! He knew too much of the ways of the South, however, to make any comment or let too much of what was going on in his mind show on his face. He gave the treatment required. That was Kenneth’s introduction to one part of the work of a coloured physician in the South. Many phases of life that he as a youth had never known about or, before his larger experience in the North and in France, had passed by him unnoticed, he now had brought to his attention. This was one of them. He began to see more clearly that his was going to be a difficult course to pursue. He determined anew that as far as possible he would keep to his own affairs and meddle not at all with the life about him.
When Ewing had gone, Kenneth returned to his reading. Hardly had he started again when Bob came in.
“Can you stop for a few minutes, Ken? I want to talk with you.”
With a look of regret at his book, Kenneth settled back and prepared to listen.
“What world problem have you got on your mind now, Bob?”
“Don’t start to kidding me, Ken. I don’t see how you can shut your eyes to how coloured people are
