Evening Star Newspaper, August 3, 1930, Page 90

12 = THE SUNDAY STAR, WASH Samson Collects or Cripples— Gladstone Smith Thought His Financial Problems Were Beyond Solution. He Was Hit and Hit Very Hard—But the Lodgé Raffle Was a Big Af fair and Very Interesting. LADSTONE SMITH was occupying an apparently enviable position in his lodge, and on the warm Demo- polis curb with respect to chance- thrown cigarette stubs. But ap- pearances are often deceptive. Gladstone was in no fix to appreciate his blessings, if any. In being elected Supreme Grand Commander of the local Sons of Temperance, it was just dawn- mguponhlmt.hathehadslaobeenelecud the goat. Beside him sprawled his cousin, Latham Hooper, painfully spelling out a poster adver- tising an excursion to Mobile. Latham was newly chosen treasurer of the same lodge, hav- MMw:hotumpugnfortheomeeunder melmpreuionthlttherevnmoneymthe treasury. Now he was making Gladstone’s derogatory opinion of the fraternal honors unanimous. “All dem boys got is bilis!” complained Latham. “Dat lodge busted wussn & bottle hmn'ofluhlchb\nldln'onlhnhdrock.” “An’ my white folks tellin’ me ol’ lodge ain’t ‘cawp'rated,’ ” Gladstone continued his half of the lamentations. “Says us off’cers is 'sponsible fo’ whut de lodge owe.” Which reminded Latham of something else t. “Yeah,” he returned, “dat huccome Ium&mmc.mmmmwtdemt." “Huccome me?” demanded Gladstone ner- wvously. “Samson Bates collects or cripples. An’ ain’t you de treas'rer?” "Yelh,butscmmuyhem’t'oznoume to miess wid de hired help when de rent done tmmmmk:hemwmdehe‘dm den. Lodge done 'lected you dat.” Gladstone’s feet made scrabbling motions in the gutter. “Ain’t no time fo’ me be settin’ mndhelhinplflnd‘ht.dm,"hednhnd himself. “When Samson stahts collectin’, I stahts travelin’. He too big an’ rough.” JUS’I' here, however, something diverting crossed Gladstone’s line of vision. Pop-eyed peering only confirmed first impressions. De- .mdm.mmflindmtmdhuumaug red touring car. In its rear seat reclined a gentleman of color and visible personal impor- tance. In the front, driving him, was the ulti- mate word in African elegance—a Negro chauffeur. “Dawggone!” exclaimed Gladstone admir- ingly. “Lemme lay down an’ die!” Opposite the lodge officials the car slowed and stopped. His magnificence leaned forward and beckoned to them. cfl:erm:mly produced ter awe as y sidled toward him. m’v:mor not only wore a collar but & tie! And his shoes were shined. “Big nigger” was the respectful technical term for such as he. “You boys live heah?” inquired the Presence condescendingly. “A-a-ain’t 'kno', suh,” stuttered Gladstone. «“pat whut I "lowed from lookin’ at you—not nobody home, much,” acknowledged the new arrival. “Lookin’ fo' somebody d'rect me to de cullud hotel. Whar at hit?” “Right round de cawner,” volunteered La- tham. “Uncle Caesar, de chambermaid an’ dar, treat you right—and it am reas’nable.” “Ne'mind de ‘reas’nable.’ Us financiers craves suhvice, ne'mind whut hit cost.” “Us runs ‘longside an’ shows you de ho-tel,” suggested Gladstone as consciousness returned to him. “Git in! Git in!” invited the stranger heartily, instead. “Used.to walk my own self— ridin’ now. Go ’long, Gawge! An’' don’t run over nobody, or I tells de po-lice yo' real name,” he directed the chauffeur. Carefully rubbing their hands on their over- alls, the Supreme Grand Commander and the treasurless Treasurer removed their battered hats, and entered the royal red car, where they endeavored to look bored. “My name Toombs—Ho'ace J. Toombs, from Bumin’ham,” their host introduced himself. “I's in de f'nancial business. Finances chu'ches, pool-rooms, lodges——"" Four Demopolis ears heard everything—es- pecially the last word. Signals passed rapidly between a couple of prominent Demopolis lodge officials in the gathering. But the car traveled faster than their minds. They had halted im- pressively before the hotel long before either had figured out how to say what was bursting to be said. They had been looking for just this, and now the doors of hope and the hotel were about to close upon them before they recovered courage to talk. But Latham’s belief in fairies was restored with: “Sho is like you boys’ looks. Craves see you ’gain shawtly.” “Us be right back,” Latham found his voice. “Jes' soon as us 'tends to some business. C'm on, Gladstone; make hit snappy!” “Whut business us got?” demanded the flus- tered “head man” a block later, after a hasty survey of the twenty-six years of personal vagrancy immediately preceding the present crowded hour. “Dat ain’t hit: us got git 'way from dat big nigger long 'nough to think,” explained Latham impatiently. “Ev'y time you git wheels under you, you gits unconscious. Yo’ brains is all brakes. Dey’s big money ahead if us work hit right. Us got to study out how to git hit. An’ sides, whut de use ridin’ wid big nigger if us ain't gwine parade round none an’ let de town niggers see us aft’'wahds?” T the hotel an hour later, Mr. Toombs met them with cigars—‘“new ones,” as Glad- stone delightedly discovered and proclaimed “How de lodget gittin’ on in D’'mop’lis?” Mr, Toombs wished to know next. “Ain’t but one ’portant lodge heah, an’ hit all busted out wid bills,” observed Latham cannily. “Dat whut me an’ Gladstone talkin’ 'bout when you driv’ up. Us de off’cers. Ol lodge sho is crave financin’.” Mr. Toombs syrveyed the situation and lodge th his cigar smoke, and bright- purpose— best for even snilow for fear of he was missing money. Gold, glory and hon- ors were right around the corner. All a couple of smart lodge officers had to do was watch their step., and everybody would be rich, Mr. Toombs said to himself. At a pause in the regal flow of out-of-town elogquence Latham pressed for details. “How us gwine make de lodge financial?” was foremost in his mind and mouth. “Easy,” chuckled Mr. Toombs. “You ever heah 'bout no raffie?” Latham chilled in his tracks. “Ain’t no luck in a raffie,” he demurred. “Us git up ome once, an’ Gladstone git mix’ up an’ put out two tickets wid de same winnin’ number om ‘em. Us wuz rafflin’ off hawg. Took Glad- stone most a week to steal 'nother shoat de right size fo' de extra winner.” Mr. Toombs deprecated hogs. “Git yo’ mind on big business,” he adjured. “Us talkin’ 'bout raflin’ off dat red car of mine outside, fo' de benefit de lodge.” Latham batted his eyes, dazzled. Gladstone looked and felt blanker than usual. “Says us c'n finance yo' lodge by raffin’ off dat big car of mine,” repeated Mr. Toombs. “Us gits out tickets, two bits aplece. Prints mo’ tickets dan de car wuth. Dat way de D’mop’lis niggers pays me fo’ de car, an’ dey's still pJenty money lef’ fo' you to split wid de “Yeah, an’' you ain't got no car when de raffie over.” Gladstone placed the skids under himself socially by speaking out of his turn. A pitying look crossed the financial features of Mr. Toombs. “Trouble wid cotton-patch" niggers,” he commented acidly, “dey ign’ant an’ ain’t know hit! Who say nothin’ ’bout nobody winnin’ de car? Lettin’ somebody win de raffie is whar heap of rafflers slips up! Way to run raffle is so ev'ybody git action an’ no- body git de prize. Dat puts ev'ybody on same footin’, an’ keeps ’em from gittin’ jealous of de winner an’ bustin’ out de winder lights.” But Gladstone was hard to derail. “Whut you gwine say when ev'ybody want know who win?” he persisted. “Why, tell ’em some nigger over in Mon’- gom’ry or Selma whut dey ain’t know de name of nohow won hit,” snapped Mr. Toombs im- patiently. “Den tell 'em you drivin’ hit over dar to give hit to him. . . . How dey gwine tell hit when de rest of you daid, boy—below yo' neck?” But already the full flower and glory of the scheme had burst upon Latham! This new big Negro sure knew his way around! By contrast, Gladstone was looking worse all the time, mentally and financially, not to speak of socially. “Yeah, but how Samson Bates gwine git de rént?” That unfortunate was again intro- ducing small details into a big deal. Mr. Toombs brushed his question aside: “Don’t y' all tell nobody nothin’ twel I gets de tickets printed. Dis time nex’ month, Mist’ Hooper, you be w'arin’ eyeglasses an’ big- bottom britches week days same as Sundays. Money in both yo’ pockets.” Gladstone noticed his personal omission from prophecy. “Feels like I did jes’ befo’ dat time I pays town Negro two dollars 'n’ quawter fo' _bottle branch-water wid ‘Gin’ printed on hit,” he observed moodily to no one in particular. Latham felt forced to resort to strong-arm methods before Gladstone erred further. “Who you owe do lodge rent to?” he queried point- edly, as Mr. Toombs waddled away in disgust. “Samson G. Bates, whut——" ‘Again it was proven that it pays to advertise. Traffic jams developed behind the resplendent red car in Hogan’s Alley. : “Well, heah I is showin’ rent money fo' him, wid a lef’ over, an’ all you does is Says yo' own se’f Samson collects cripples who, Negro?” Gladstone saw the %point and indistinct mumbling. “——ev'y dat Bumin’ham Negro I sees of him,” he persisted pessimistically, DII..IVIRY of the raffie tickets had promised for that night. lowing morning Latham was parked outside the hotel waiting for Mr. Toombs. So was the big red car that alone now stood between Glad- stone and a lot of poor health in the matter of Samson’s past-due rent. . Latham couldn’t keep his eyes off the car. From tire-cover to radiator-cap it spoke loudly of big money. Any one that could afford a car like that was bound to be used to going in at the front doors of banks. Hooking up with Horace J. Toombs was liable to affect a boy's future just right. Latham continued to eye the red chariot of Mr. Toombs and carry on hea personal speculating as to when its breakfasted. While he looked, George, chauffeur with the large past and small future emerged stiffiy from the back seat where he had evidently passed the night and the hotel. There he undoubtedly Scoutcraft promptly, for a moment later the results of his good turi were seen in Mr. Toombs bursting jovially forth. “Come right on in, Mist’ Hooper!” he in- vited. “Craves you eat yo'se’f some breakfas’ wid me while us 'scusses de tickets.” Inside the dining room luck rallied right around Latham again. Mr., Toombs’ table was squarely opposite the door into the kitchen, so that every time that door opened Gladstone— eating in the kitchen with George—got an eye- ful of Latham eating in the dining room with George's employer. The gulf between Dives and Lazarus became as a mere dry-weather crack in the ground as compared with the social one that Latham watched happily widening between himself and the wretched Gladitone. A contrast, too, which an evident and fast-growing intimacy between George and Gladstone served but to heighten. Somewhere in the course of their meal they seemed to have reached common ground, a community of interest that bespoke a singleness of purpose. «Tickets all printed,” confided Mr. Toombs to Latham, hoarsely. “Us gits out twenty-five hund’ed. Sells at two bits apiece. Dat's six hund’ed twenty-five dollars. Car wuth three hund’ed fifty now. Dat leaves nearly three hund’ed fo’ you to split wid de lodge.” Latham'’s head spun with large figures. Some one seemed left out, at that. “Whar Glad- stone come in?” he questioned through the mathematical maze, “Come in de front do’ of de foolish-house, is de keepers ever see him runnin’ round loose! Dat boy cain’t never und’stand nothin’ bigger'n two dollars an’ a half, whut de use botherin’ him wid somep’'n he cain’t even count? My idea 'bout Gladstone is to fo'git 'bout him twel after de raffile over, an’ den give him couple of good seegars an’ a toy balloon.” Latham saw why Mr.. Toombs was rich. Ditching Gladstone in mid-deal this way would never have occurred to Latham unsuggested and unaided. Yet, once outlined, the merits and profits of the plan were undeniable. Let- ting Gladstone in on the was a sheer waste of good money, looking at it Mr. Toombs’ way. And, “De fewer de splitters, de bitter de splits,” as Horace had explained conclusively. “Dat’s a fac’; Gladstone li'ble gum up de business, is us leave him in on hit,” agreed untinm “Always says leave out de dumb- bells.” “Play wid me, boy, an’ I shows you how Mist' Rock'feller git dat way,” exulted Mr. Toombs. “Cain’t run me off wid rocks now,” countered Latham expansively. “Who gwine handle de money?” “Both of us does—soon as I gits m~ my three hund’ed fifty dollars fo’ de car. Dat come first, ‘count me puttin’ up de car. Den you llnmderut.nowdnywmmmm ‘bout dat Gladstone nigger. Ev'ything honest an’ ‘bove-boa’d. ‘Honest Ho'ace,’ dey call me up in Bumin’ham. Bawn dat way, an’ gittin’ mo’ so ev'y minute. Worry down dem las’ fo' pohk chops, Mist’ Hooper, an’ us stahts in gittin’ yo' lodge financial.” e Latham did nobly with the chops. “Gladstone sho gittin’ on fine wid my hired boy, Gawge,” further commented Mr. Toombs. “But hit ain’'t do him no good. I knows s0 much on Gawge he ain’t got nothin’ but a rain-check from de jail house now. Dat whut keep him so tame round me.” X “Aims to git Gladstone dat way when us finish dis heah raffie,” observed Latham over final chop. “Ain’t no class to Gladstone. t you an’ me gwine mop up. I gits de signs ted yesterday, an’ charge ‘em to de lodge. ys ‘Benefit Sons of Temp'rance Lodge—Buy ’ Ticket an’ Win dis Car’ Us put 'em en car an’ ride round town in hit. Sheo out de ’scursion money.” N “Huccome ‘’scursion money?’” “s'gcursion money, dat’s de two dollars ev'y nigger's got hid out to go to Mobile on de 'scursion nex’ week. Nigger's always got two dollars fo' a ’scursion.” - MB. TOOMBS beamed approvingly. “Wait twel I knicks dat bum Gawge loose from de breakfas’ table,” he instructed, “an’ us stahts. Ne'mind how hongry Gawge is, he got do whut I say—I knows too much on him.” But separating George and Gladstone was not so easily managed. They proved to have their heads together at their kitchen table to a degree hardly justified by euch . brief acquaintanceship. A paper under discussion between them passed from George to Glad- stone at parting—a paper which Gladstone prized but could not read. 5 “Whut dat you rgit from dat jall-bound, Gawge?” queried Latham later, as Gladstone slaved at fastening the banners to the red car’s sides. “Ain’'t know yit. Gawge says hit's pow’ful peper he git in de mail from Bumin’ham. He say hit guarnteed to cure de lodge of bein’ busted an’ keep Samson Bates off my neck 'bout de rent. Sho is sound good.” Latham sniffed superiorly. George was al- ready stepping on the starter. “Ain’t nothin’ do you no good now, nigger!” Latham made himself heard above the resulting roar of the motor. “Samson Bates ain’t lookin’ to mno- body but you fo’ dat rent. Only paper dat save you wid him is got ‘Thirty Dollars’ print’ all over hit. Boy, you done sunk so low, ’sociatin’ wid dat Gawge nigger dat you has to look up to see bait-wu'ms! Snakes passes over yo' haid an’ you thinks.dey’s airplanes! Gawge! Why, Mist’ Toombs know so much on dat boy dat ev'y time Mijst’ Toombs open he mouth de jail-house do’ open, too—fo’ Gawge!” With which reproof Latham shoved Glad- stone aside, that he might step into the car beside George. Mr. Toombs was already spreading himself conspicuously in the rear seat —and no one was making any discernible ar- rangements for Gladstone to join the party. When they had driven off Gladstone gripped his paper uncertainly. He couldn’t remember whether George had said to read it or to wear it around his neck. In which indecision and low spiritual ebb he turned away, to meet—| Samson G. Bates in a business-like mood. “How ’'bout dat thirty dollars, two months’ rent de lodge done owe me?” Samson brutally| introduced the subject nearest Gladstone’s physical welfare. & “Raisin’ hit now,” Gladstone offered weakly. “Treas’rer jes’ rid off—look like he fixin’ to) git jes' right——" Mr., Bates grew increasingly hard-boiled. “look heah, Evlution!” he addressed the shrinking head man of the Jodge. “You don talked yo'self out of no mo’ time wid me. I seen treas'rers ride off befo’; heap of time day ain't ride back—specially when de ren done pas’ due. An’ you knows me—I eol or cripples. Whut I's talkin’ 'bout you h dat thirty dollars in my han’s tomorrer, or de; got you oll stretch’ out on a boa’d in a clean collar an’ yo' Sunday pants. You heah me?"