Читать книгу The Triumph of Virginia Dale - John MacCunn Francis - Страница 6

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Obadiah Dale’s car was waiting at his home. It stood upon the gravel driveway opposite the steps at the end of the porch. Virginia was seated in the rear seat and her eyes rested seriously upon Serena, who from the higher floor of the porch, viewed Ike, lounging by the car, as from a rostrum.

The young negro was attired in a neat livery which gave him a natty aspect distinctly absent when his siesta was disturbed by Serena. Regardless of his more attractive guise, however, he shifted nervously under her stern gaze. He, who ever bore himself, in hours of leisure, before the black population of South Ridgefield as one of imperial blood, was abashed before her. That poise, that coolness of demeanor, that almost insolent manner exhibited at crap games, chicken fights or those social functions where the gentler sex predominates, was absent now. Before Serena, his lofty soul became as a worm, desirous of burying itself from the pitiless light of publicity.

“You Ike,” she said with great severity, “mine wot ah say. Stop you’ fas’ drivin’. Miss Virginy ain’ wantin’ to go shootin’ aroun’ dis yere town lak er circus lady in er cha’iot race.”

The girl displayed interest in the remark, but remained silent.

Ike climbed into the car and sought support from the steering wheel. In a gentle manner, as if desirous of averting wrath, he made answer, “Ah ain’ no speeder, Miss Sereny. Ah is de carefulest chauffah in dis town. Ah sez, ‘Safety fust.’ Dat’s ma motta.” At the sound of his own voice he gained in assurance. He had acquired these statements by heart from frequent repetition.

“Wat you down in dat co’t fo’, den?” inquired Serena. “Mr. Dale he done say, he gittin’ tired er payin’ fines fo’ yo’all. He say de nex’ time he gwine ax de jedge to let you rot in dat calaboose.”

Ike listened to this promise of extended incarceration with the casual interest due an oft repeated tale. Disregarding it, he continued, “Ah goes to co’t ’count o’ de inexpe’ienced drivers.” He spoke as an expert. “Ef dey had ’spe’ienced drivers dey ain’ gwine be no trouble a tall.”

“Dey bettah be no mo’ trouble,” snapped Serena, “les yo’all gits in worse. G’wan now ’bout you’ business. Take Miss Virginy down to de sto’ an’ den out on de river road. You gotta git back in time to bring her pa home fo’ lunch.” The solution of a difficult problem dawned upon her and instantly she returned to her former argument. “Don’ you drive dat caah no fas’er den er hoss an’ er ker’idge kin go,” she commanded.

It is of record that even a worm upon extreme irritation will fall upon its tormentor. Thus Ike reacted to this notable example of feminine ignorance. “How’s ah gwine mek dis yere high powah caah run dat slow? Ah ast you dat? How’s ah gwine do it?”

Apparently heedless of this incipient rebellion, Serena gave her attention to her young mistress, “Good bye, honey chil’,” she worried. “Don’ you mek youse’f sick on sody an’ ice cream.”

Virginia smiled sweetly at the now beaming black face of the negro woman. “I’ll be very careful,” she promised.

Serena devoted herself again to her minion. “You Ike, go slow. Go mighty cafful. Dat’s wot ah say.”

He looked askance at her. Every vestige of humor had departed from the black face replaced by a cold, implacable glare. Without a word, he started the machine and it glided down the drive.

Her purchases completed, Virginia sat musing upon the message from her mother as the big car hummed softly towards the quiet beauty of the river road. Vague plans, indefinite as dreams, floated through her mind.

Ike was obeying Serena’s wishes so faithfully that the absence of excitement, so essential to the display of what he considered his best talents, was almost lulling him to sleep.

A large bill board fenced the front of a vacant lot, on their way. A magnificent example of the lithographer’s art, as adapted to the advertising needs of a minstrel show, was posted upon it. It’s coloring, chiefly red, was effective and forceful and displayed an extravagant disregard of the high cost of ink. It portrayed the triumphant passage of the Jubilee Minstrels. The brilliant uniforms, the martial air of the musicians as well as the exceeding pleasure with which this aggregation appeared to be welcomed by the reviewing public, was of a character to please, to impress, yes, even to stun all beholders, except the blind.

This picture caught the soul of Ike as he came within the scope of its influence. To him, applause and admiration were as strong drink. Envy knocked at his heart as he beheld the bright raiment. He visualized himself, thus dazzlingly attired, exhibited to his admiring fellow townsmen. Violating speed laws was infantile piffle to this. A syncopated melody, appropriate to a victorious march, blared in memory’s ear. He hummed it softly. His body twitched to the rhythm and his feet took up the cadence. He pressed a pedal and the powerful car accelerated its motion well above the modest limits commanded by Serena. To the shell of Ike, the increased speed was but a return to normal. His spirit was away. Expanding as a morning-glory to the sun, it paraded, in wondrous garments, to martial music, before gaping thousands.

A turn in their way was before them. Ike partially roused himself from his sweet dreams and automatically attended to the necessities of the moment. These included no slackening of speed.

The car swung a corner and instantly thereafter there came a mighty groaning of brakes as it was finally stopped in the midst of what had been an orderly procession of small negro children. The startling arrival of the big machine had scattered them, with shrill cries and screams, in every direction.

Virginia was alarmed at the sudden halt and at the frightened outcries of the youngsters. She leaped out. On the curb an excited colored woman was holding a weeping black boy by the hand. He was very small and, because of a deformed leg, used a crutch. Between efforts to reassemble her scattered charges, she endeavored to calm and comfort him.

Hurrying to the woman, Virginia cried, “I’m so sorry.”

“Much good sorry gwine do after you kill somebody,” shouted the woman, much angered by the occurrence. “Ain’ you got no bettah sense ’en to run down a lot o’ chillun?”

“It would have been terrible if we had hurt one of them. I never would have forgiven myself. We couldn’t see them until we turned the corner.” In her excitement she sought friendly support. “Could we, Ike?”

To Ike, it was a duty from which much pleasure could be derived to take part in any controversy. Likewise, one acquires merit, when one is a chauffeur, by strongly maintaining the contention of one’s mistress–she may reciprocate in a difficult hour. Ike turned an unfriendly countenance upon the woman, and asked for information, “How ah gwine see ’roun’ er corner? Does you ’spect dat ma eyes is twisted?”

“Go long, man. Mine you’ own business.”

Not thus summarily was Ike to be dismissed. “Dese yere chillun ain’ no call to be in de street. Howcum ’em der? Ain’ it yo’all’s business to keep ’em outen de way?” A uniformity in costume struck him. “Ain’ dey orphant chillun runnin’ loose?”

“Orphans! The poor things!” Virginia cried.

“Wot ef dey is orphants?” the woman protested with great belligerence.

“Den,” Ike behaved as if he, a public spirited citizen, had discovered the warden of a penitentiary seeking pleasure beyond the walls with notorious criminals, “howcum dey heah? Wharfo?”

The suspicion and force in the chauffeur’s manner brought fresh tears to orphan eyes.

Encouraged by these evidences of public attention, Ike continued his investigation. “Ah axes you woman, why ain’ dey in de ’sylum whar dey ’long?”

The chauffeur’s words had not soothed the guardian of the children. She showed unmistakable signs of increasing wrath. Glaring fixedly at him, she blazed, “Mine you’ own business, you black po’cupine.”

Although the application of the epithet was obscure, its effect was all that could be desired. Ike suffered a species of fit. His mouth opened and closed without sound. His wildly rolling eyes exposed wide areas of white and then glued themselves in invenomed hatred upon the woman. Muscles contracted and worked in his neck. Even as a panther, he appeared about to spring upon his foe.

Virginia interfered. Her experience of life was limited, but she understood the negro. “Don’t get out of the car, Ike,” she ordered.

“Ef dat spindle legged dude git outen dat caah, ah is boun’ to bus’ his haid wid ma fist,” predicted the woman.

Virginia feared no blood shed but deemed it desirable to take steps to avoid an argument certain to be loud and long and to add nothing to her dignity as a bystander. She answered Ike’s inquiries herself. “The children were out walking, I suppose, and had to cross the street?”

This overture slightly mollified the woman but she yet viewed the porcupine with distinct hostility.

“Are all of these poor children orphans?” continued Virginia, shaking her head at the pity of it.

“Yas’m, dey’s all orphants f’om the Lincoln Home, up de street.”

“And you had them out for their daily walk?”

“No, mam, dey gits out onest er week. Ah ain’ got no time to take ’em out every day.”

Virginia looked at the woman very thoughtfully. “Your work makes you very happy, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“Ah ain’ heard o’ no kind er wo’k mekin’ nobody happy. Ah jes allers was, an’ allers is happy. Dat’s me,” the woman explained.

“Why, you are a mother to all of those children.”

“Yas’m, de onlies’ mother dey gwine git, ah guesses.” The woman viewed her reassembled charges speculatively. She patted the little cripple at her side. “Po’ li’l Willie, he cain’t walk ve’y fas’, kin you, sweetheart?”

“You poor little fellow,” sighed Virginia.

“Ah bettah tote you, Willie. We gotta move right smart afo’ noon an’ you ain’ ve’y spry on dat crutch.” Picking up the lame boy, the woman began to issue instructions for the advance of her forces.

Virginia surveyed the manoeuvering orphans comprehensively. “If I could get them all into the car I would take them for a ride,” she exclaimed, and then, “They can be crowded in, I believe. May they go?”

The woman regarded the girl in great astonishment. “Cou’se dey kin go eff yo’all wants ’em.” Her conscience appeared to demand a further warning. “Dey is er powe’ful mouthy and mischievous lot o’ rascallions.”

Ike was disgusted. To be required to act as chauffeur for a crowd of screaming infants of his own race was another wound to that dignity so recently and fearfully lacerated. He submitted protest. “Dis yere caah ain’ gwine hol’ all dem chillun. It ain’ no dray. Dey gwine bus’ de springs smack bang offen it.”

“If the car breaks down you can have them fix it at the garage, Ike. They always have been able to mend it,” Virginia told him with great complacency as she proceeded with her plans.

“Ef all de chillun stan’ close, ’ceptin fo’ or five wid li’l Willie an’ me on de back seat, dey is plenty room,” the orphan’s guardian indicated, greatly pleased at the prospect of the ride.

The sullen fire of eternal hatred burned in the eye which Ike turned upon her. He fired his last shot. “Miss Virginy, you’ Daddy ain’ want all des yere chillun in dis caah. He mighty biggoty about whoall ride in it. Ah ’spects dey is gwine dirty it up sumpin fierce.”

“Who yo’all call dirty?” demanded the woman; but Virginia made peace by an emphatic “Hush,” as the colored orphans were packed into the back of the machine. With their attendant they filled the entire space.

The car moved away as soon as Virginia had taken her seat by the irritated Ike. They left the town and sped along country roads. The little negroes, awed by their new surroundings, became noisy with familiarity and expressed their joy by screaming.

The young hostess of this strange party was at first uncomfortable and embarrassed at the clamor of her small guests, but as she awakened to the enjoyment she was giving the orphans she forgot herself in their pleasure.

It was a beautiful ride along the river shore, through the woods, and then back between great fields of growing grain the surfaces of which were broken into moving waves of green at the touch of the summer breeze.

They reentered the town a few minutes before noon and were almost back to the turn towards the Orphans’ Home, when far down the street they caught the glitter of brass and the glow of red. “Er ban’, er ban’,” screamed the little negroes.

The enticing strains of melody called to Ike across the intervening blocks. There was a look of deep guile in his face, which became regret, as he suggested to Virginia, “Des po’ orphants ain’ no chans to heah fine ban’ music. Ah might circle aroun’ dat minst’el ban’ an’ let de chillun lis’en fo’ er spell.”

As Virginia nodded assent, the car shot away, straight down the street. In a few moments they had overtaken the marching musicians, the reality of the poster which had charmed Ike. From them burst melody which coursed through his veins. As he drifted away on a sea of syncopated bliss, the car, subconsciously driven, closed upon the marching minstrels. In the midst of a delegation of youth, honoring the snare and bass drummers, it rolled. Bearing Virginia and her guests behind the pageant and as an apparent part thereof, it proceeded towards the center of the city.

The negro children were clamorous with delight at the wonderful concentration of humanity, noise, and excitement. Their screams vied with the band and their guardian on the rear seat assumed a careless dignity.

Virginia’s mind was occupied with the infants. To her, the onlookers, more numerous as they neared the business part of town, were the background of a picture. She was utterly unconscious that the load of pickaninnies formed a most appropriate part of the spectacle.

Laughter pealed from the increasing crowds at the nonsensical behavior of the orphans. In the center of town, prominent business men were away from their offices for luncheon. They gazed indifferently at the marching band, but as the machine approached, they recognized its monogram, and, attracting the attention of companions, they burst into shouts of laughter. Here was the car of wealthy Obadiah Dale, packed with negro children, chaperoned by his daughter, taking part in a minstrel parade.

Suddenly upon the sidewalk near the curb, Virginia espied her father. Regardless of her surroundings, the girl endeavored to attract his attention by waving her hand. The pickaninnies joined with shouts, considering it a pleasant game.

Plunged in thought and heedless of the band, the increased clamor aroused Obadiah. Incredulity and amazement, at the sight of his daughter and her company, held him. An acquaintance approached, spoke and laughed. Anger flushed the mill owner as he marked the staring eyes fixed in unveiled amusement on himself and his daughter.

“Daddy is over there,–there.” She indicated the place to Ike, delight in her discovery accenting her cry.

The chauffeur, thus rudely torn from his musical reverie, solaced his disturbed harmoniousness, by smiting the ears of the crowd and wrecking the sweet tones of the band, by a discordant honk. Thus soothed, he attempted to turn towards the sidewalk, but the congested traffic blocked him and he had to delay a few moments before he could swing the car over to the curb.

Obadiah came up. He glared at the assembled orphans with manifest disapproval and gave gruff tongue to his astonishment. “What does this mean? I don’t understand it,” he snarled at Virginia.

In the depths of her big blue eyes lay tenderness as she anxiously searched his cold grey ones for some sign of sympathetic appreciation. “Daddy, dear”–there was a note of pride in her manner–“these are orphans from the Lincoln Home. I have had them out riding all morning.”

The pickaninnies acknowledged the introduction with screams.

This attention added fuel to Obadiah’s irritation, “How are you going to get rid of this bunch?” he asked loudly, giving no heed to the listening ears of guests. “I want to go home and get my lunch.”

The girl wrinkled her nose in thoughtful consideration of the social dilemma she faced. The truly resourceful are never long at a loss. “You get in here, Daddy,” she urged, “you can hold me on your lap and we will run over to the Orphans’ Home. We can leave the children there and go straight home.”

“The idea!” snapped Obadiah, “I won’t be made more ridiculous than I have been, today. You must learn to give thought to others, Virginia.”

Instantly, her happiness faded before his words. “I am so sorry. I forgot how time was passing and I didn’t mean to get in this big crowd. How will you get home? What can I do for you, Daddy?”

Once more he realized that amused faces watched him as he interviewed his daughter, a lily in a bed of black tulips. “Get out of this crowd. Everybody is laughing at me. I’ll get home some way,” he declared peevishly. “You get rid of that outfit as soon as you can,” he called, as he moved away, apparently in a hurry to escape the orphans’ company. “I’ll see you at home.”