“Gentleman to see you, sir,” announced the office boy, laying a card on the table before him. Langley glanced at the card and then said: “Show the gentleman in, and remember I’m ‘engaged’ to anyone who calls while he is here.” As the boy left the room he thought to himself: “I wonder what brings the Hon. Herbert Clapp here today. Something uncommon, I warrant.”
Langley arose to receive his visitor with an easy grace which was a distinguishing point in his personality. Men would tell you privately—keen, farsighted politicians—that they believed Langley to be “tricky,” but that he had such a pleasant way with him that you would give in to him when you knew, within your own mind, that he would do you out of a case in court or a hundred dollars with the suavity of a Lord Chesterfield; or, as one politician expressed it: “He has such a d⸺ oily way with him that a man forgets to fire him until it is too late.” He received his guest with empressement, bade him good morning in a cordial voice, seated him in the easiest chair which the cozy office contained, and, before his hat had fairly reached a resting-place, had produced a box of fine cigars, and made him comfortable.
“Deuced pleasant office you have here, Langley,” remarked the visitor as he lit a fragrant Havana and proceeded to enjoy himself man-fashion.
“Oh, it isn’t bad,” replied Langley, “though if my practice allowed it I would be glad to take more commodious quarters.” John had helped himself to a cigar, and was now contemplating the ceiling through rings of curling smoke. Apparently he watched a belated fly trail its body slowly over the white space, but really his mind was alert and watchful to find a clue as to the nature of the business which had caused this man to call upon him. Mr. Clapp had visited him twice before since he had been in business, and each time his call had brought substantial profit, in a political way, to his little bank account.
“Horrible thing, this latest case of lynching,” Mr. Clapp remarked after an interval of silent enjoyment.
“Yes,” replied John, “pretty bad. Isn’t it most time for the Administration to take it up? You can’t expect us to stand this sort of thing always, and not strike back.”
“What’d you gain by doing that?” questioned Mr. Clapp.
“I’ll tell you,” replied John, looking earnestly at his visitor, “there are thirty-five thousand of us in this state alone. We can be organized, if the work is done by the right ones and in the right way. We can help start a new party, if nothing more.”
“That won’t do any good, John, we can down you. Colored people won’t stick together; and then where’d you be?”
“We’d stick all right if once we got started,” returned John doggedly.
“No you wouldn’t; you’re so confoundedly jealous of honors. Each one of you wants all there is for himself, and you never know when to get off, individually. We white men know this, and it is easy to upset your plans.”
“I know that there is a great deal of truth in what you say, but that won’t always be the case with us; we are growing away from it more and more every day; and with the missionary work that the League is doing, we expect to fight you one of these days, and knock the party clear over the ropes.”
“You’ll never do it!” declared Mr. Clapp.
“Time will tell. You don’t expect to succeed in keeping us out of employment, shoved in a corner to starve and to be burnt alive, without getting square sometime, do you? There would be some satisfaction in throwing you fellows out and putting others in, if a new party is the outcome of the issue, and seeing some of you, who have your pockets filled with the salaries which the Government has heaped upon you, shoved out of a job and your vast schemes for growing richer, at the expense of the lives of just such poor unfortunates as the Negroes you are allowing the South to burn in order to keep in power, blown to the devil. We can at least do that much.”
“I didn’t expect such talk from you, Langley,” said Mr. Clapp, his lips tightening in a tense line about the mouth.
“I suppose not. I’ve always been pliable, like the rest of the race. Things are changing.”
“The dollar will fetch you every time, John.”
“Not this time, anyhow,” was the dogged reply.
“Pshaw! You people are standing in your own light.”
“Yes, I think we are. Been doing the same old thing for the last thirty-five years.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Mr. Clapp, growing white with suppressed passion. “Is that a reflection?”
“Don’t lose your temper, Colonel; the man who gets mad always gets the worst of it,” replied John blandly. “I want to ask you a question: Did you ever hear of such a thing as a man being robbed and murdered in the house of his friends?” He looked Mr. Clapp squarely in the eye. The latter shifted uneasily in his seat.
“That’s what’s been done to my people.”
“Well, you can’t complain; you’ve had all you’re worth.”
“Had all we’re worth! Yes, you give us a bootblack stand in the corridor of the State House, and think we are placated.”
“You can’t expect anything more until you have earned it. Besides, you’re incompetent to fill any higher position. I have had a number of your best men tried in clerical
