J. Poindexter, Colored

"Yassum," I says, "yassum, I jest is reached 'at p'int, now. The will say 'at the estate is to be helt in trust fur the time bein' an' 'en w'en the two sons comes of age they is free to marry, only they is both bound to marry somebody or other befo' they reaches they twenty-fif' birthday. An' the one w'ich has the most chillen to his credit at the end of five yeahs frum his weddin' day, he gits the main chunk of the prop'ty, whilst the other is cut down to jest – "

"The most children?" she says; only by now she's saying it so savigrous that she practically is yelling it. "The most – ?"

"Yassum," I says, "tha's it – the most chillen. You see, ma'am, they seems to run to chillen, someway, the Pulliamses does. When a Pulliam gits married, look out fur baby-carriages, tha's all. They don't seem to have chillen by driblets, neither, lak some people does. They is more apt to have 'em by triplets. They is two complete sets of triplets on record in times gone past, an' ever' generation kin be depended on to perduce at leas' one set of twins.

"Or even more! Now, f'rinstances, you tek Mr. Dallas an' Mr. Clarence – both twins. Tek they father befo' 'em an' they maiden aunt, Miss Sarah Pulliam, deceasted – twins some mo'. Only, you never heared much 'bout Miss Sarah in her lifetime owin' to her bein' kep' onder lock an' key fur spasms of a kind of wildness comin' over her now an' then. Then ag'in, amongst Mr. Dallases' own brothers an' sisters, tek his two lil' twin sisters, not to mention the four or five singles w'ich come 'long right stiddy an' reg'lar. Yassum, it's been 'at way in the famby fur ez fur back ez the oldest inhabitant kin remember.

"But the gineration w'ich Mr. Dallas belongs to, it turned out sickly fur the most part, an' so, by the time the ole gen'elman come to die, all his chillen had died off on him, 'scusin' Mr. Dallas an' Mr. Clarence, w'ich them two wuz all they wuz left out of a big swarm. Oh, I jedges the paw knowed whut he wuz 'bout! I reckin he craved 'at his breed should once more multiply freely an' replenish the earth wid a whole multitude of lil' Pulliamses. An' so he purvided fur a healthy competition betwixt his two sons to see – "

"Wait!" she says. "Let me see if I understand you? You say that by the terms of that old maniac's will the bulk of his estate was tied up so to go eventually to the son who had the most children five years after marriage. Well, then, what does the remaining son – the loser – get?"

"He gits a hund'ed an' fifty dollars a month fur life – I think tha's whut it come to," I says. "Mebbe it mout be a hund'ed an' sebenty-five, I won't be shore. An' he also draws down fifty dollars a month extry fur each chile he's got livin'. But tha's all. The home place an' the tobacco bus'ness an' the money in the bank an' all else, they goes to the winner, onlessen each one, at the end of them five yeahs is got a ek'el number of chillen in w'ich case the estate is divided even-stephen betwixt 'em. Yassum!"

"Then why didn't both brothers marry as soon as they came of age?" she asks me, sort of suspicious. But I was expecting that very question to come forth sooner or later, and I was prepared beforehand for it.

"Wellum," I says, "you see, I reckin Mr. Dallas figgered they wuzn' no need to be in a rush seein' 'at Mr. Clarence wuz so kind of ondependable. Ef the truth must be knowed, Mr. Clarence wuz downright flighty. He had spells w'en he'd furgit his own name an' go wanderin'. Yassum! An' right after he come of age he took a 'specially severe spell an' he sauntered so fur away they plum' lost track of him. It wasn't 'twell last July 'at he wuz located ag'in. It seems lak he'd been detained somewhars out West in a sort of a home whar they keeps folks w'ich is liable to fits of chronic oneasiness in the haid. But now, suddenly, his refreshed memory had come back to him an' the doctors pernounced him cured an' turned him loose ag'in; an' the latest word wuz 'at he wuz thinkin' 'bout gittin married down in Texas or one of 'em other distant places, out yonderways. So Mr. Dallas must a-realized 'at 'twuz up to him to stir his stumps an' git hisse'f married off, too; 'specially ez he had done passed his twenty-fo'th birthday the month befo'. Well, seemed lak, he couldn't find no young lady down home w'ich wuz suitable to his fancies, although some folks did say, quiet-lak, 'at they wuz a local prejudice springin' up on the part of parents ag'inst havin' they daughters marryin' him. But betwixt you an' me, ma'am, I never tuk no stock in 'at, 'cause most of the time Mr. Dallas is jest ez rationable ez whut you an' me is. It's only w'en he gits excited 'at he behaves a lil' peculiar-lak. Well, anyways, Mr. Dallas he come on up yere an' he met you. So now it looks lak ever'thing is goin' turn out all right, an' mebbe we'll beat out Mr. Clarence after all, in w'ich case Mr. Dallas won't have to be worryin' at the end of five yeahs 'bout whar he's gain' to rake up the cash to pay back the money w'ich he's overdrawed out of the estate, nur nuthin'. So that's how come me to mention chillen w'en I fust come in, ma'am. An' I trusts you understan's?"

And with that I smiles at her like I'm expecting that now, seeing she knows all the tidings, she'll be jubilated over the prospects, too.

But she ain't smiling – I lay she ain't got a smile left in her entire system. She's mighty nigh choking, but it ain't no happy emotion that she's choked up with; if you was a blind man you could a-told that much from the sounds she's making. She's saying things fast and furious. Remarks is just foaming from her; but the trouble is she keeps on getting her statements all jumbled up together so they don't make good sense. And yet, notwithstanding, I still can follow her thoughts. I catches the words: "most children" – she duplicates that several times – and "twins" and "triplets" and "insanity" and "one hundred and fifty dollars a month." And all mixed in with this is loose odds and ends of language which seems to indicate she thinks somebody has been withholding something back on her or trying to take an unfair advantage of her, or something. She certainly is in a swivit. A little more and she'd be delirious – she would so!

All of a sudden she flings herself out of the room, with her necklaces and things clashing till she sounds like a runaway milk-wagon, and she makes for the telephone in the hall, and I can hear her trying very frantic to get our number rung up. For a minute my heart swarms up in my throat; anyhow, some of my organs swarms up there where I can taste 'em. I'm so afraid Mr. Dallas may forget his promise to me and come to the 'phone! If he does, the whole transaction is liable to be busted up just when I've strove so hard to fix everything nice and lovely. That's why my heart climbs up in my windpipes. But after a little bit I can breathe easy some more because it's plain, from what I overhears, that Central tells her she can't get no responsives from the other end of the wire. So then, after one or two more tries, she gives up trying and she comes back into the setting-room, still spilling mumbling words, but "children" continues to be the one she seems to favor the most, and she says to me that she has a message to send to Mr. Dallas, which she wants me for to take it to him.

Still playing my part, I says to her I truly hopes there ain't going to be nothing in the message which will put Mr. Dallas in a bad humor with me. But she don't appear to hear my pleading voice. She's already set down over at a little writing-desk in the corner, and she's got a pen in her hand and she's writing away like a house on fire. The pen is squeaking the same as if it was in torment, and them five or six bracelets on her arm is clinking sweet music to my ear. I ain't no seventh son of a seventh gun, which they tells me they has the gift of prophecy laid upon them at birth, nor yet I ain't no mind-reader, but, even so, I says to myself that I don't need but one guess at the true nature of what 'tis she's writing.

She gets through quite soon – there's only just one single sheet of paper, and she folds it up and creases it hard like she's trying to mash it in two, and she jams it in an enveloper and seals the enveloper and shoves it into my waiting hand, and she says to me:

"There! Now you take this note to the man you work for, immediately!"

"Yassum," I says; "is they any answer to come back?"

"Answer?" she says, "No – no —no– NO!"

So I goes right out, leaving her still saying it at the top of her voice. It seems to me it's high time to go, if not higher. Besides, it's mighty hard trying to carry on a conversation with an overwrought-up lady which she has only got one word left in stock, which that one is a little short word like "No."

So I takes my foot in my hand and I marvils thence from there fast as ever my willing legs can take me. And as I goes along on my way, speeding 'cross-town bound for our quarters, I'm trying to think of a stylish word which in times gone by I has heard some of the white folks use as a pet name for a note from one loving soul to another. Pretty soon it comes to me —billet doux!

I stops right still where I is at:

"Bill-Lee do, huh?" I says to myself. "Yas, sometimes Bill-Lee do. But this time – glory, hallelujah, amen! – Bill-Lee do not!"

Chapter XVIII

White Hopes

WHEN you is engaged in going to and fro in the world doing good deeds you certainly can cover a surpassing lot of ground in a short time. It's striking ten when I knocks at the lady's door; it ain't eleven yet, by the lacking of a few minutes, when I is home again and has handed over the note to Mr. Dallas and is watching his face whilst he reads it. He's got one of these here open faces, and I can tell, easy enough, exactly what thoughts goes through his mind. Mostly he's full of a great relief – that's plain to see – but mixed in with it is a faint kind of a lurking regretfulness that she should a-broke loose from him so abrupt this-a-way. If folks has got the least crumb of vanity in 'em it shows forth when a love affair is going to pieces on 'em. And Mr. Dallas is not no mite different in this matter from the run of creation. Even so, he's displayed more joysomeness than anything else when it comes to the end of what she's wrote him. He reaches out after my hand for to shake it good and hard and hearty.

"Jeff," he says, "my hat's off to you – you're the outstanding wonder of the century. I judge it's hardly necessary for me to tell you what's in this note?"

"I been able," I says, "to mek my own calculations, suh. I reckins ef I wuz put to it, I could guess."

"How did you ever succeed in doing it?" he says.

"Mr. Dallas," I says, "the main p'int is 'at it's done – ain't 'at so, suh?"

"Agreed," he says; "but there are hints here – hints is a mild word – at things I don't in the least understand. Now, for example – "

"Mr. Dallas," I says, "ast me no questions, please suh, an' I'll tell you no lies. Lyin' don't come natchel to me, ez you knows – I has to strain fur it."

"Very well," he says, "have it your own way; I won't press you. The proof is in my hand that you accomplished what you set out to do; and seeing that I had no part or parcel in it I figure it's up to me to show less curiosity and more gratitude."

"Nummine the gratitudes part yit aw'ile," I says. "Us is got a heap more to 'complish 'fore the sun goes down tonight. It's only jest a part of the load w'ich is been lifted – bear 'at in mind, suh. The case of Mr. H. C. Raynor is yit remainin' to be 'tended to."

"You've already shown me what you can do, even though I'm left in the dark, as to the exact methods you use in these big emergencies," he says. "I'm still following your lead. What comes next?"

All through this he's been walking up and down the floor like he was drilling for the militia. So I induces him for to set down and be still, and I proceeds to specify further.

I says to him, I says:

"Mr. Dallas," I says, "these here chronic Noo Yawkers is funny people – some of 'em. 'Cause they knows they own game they thinks they ain't no other games wu'th knowin'. 'Cause they thinks the Noo Yawk way of doin' things must be the only suitable way, they don't concern theyselves 'bout the way an outsider mout tackle the same proposition. To be so bright ez they is in some reguards, they is the most ign'ent in others ever I seen. Now, 'cordin' to my notions, w'en you gits 'em on strange ground, w'en you flings a novelty slam-bang in they faces, they ain't got no ways an' means figgered out fur meetin' it an' they's liable to git all mommuxed up an' swep' right off they feet."

"Jeff," he says, "you have gifts which I never fully appreciated before. You are not only a philosopher but a psychologist as well."

"Boss," I says, "you does me too much honor. So fur ez I knows, I ain't nary one of them two things w'ich you jest called me. I only merely strives fur to use the few grains of common-sense w'ich the Good Lawd give me, tha's all 'tis. Tubby shore, I got one 'vantage on my side: I kin look at w'ite folkses' affairs frum a cullid stan'p'int whar'as they kin only look at 'em frum they own. Ef the shoe wuz on t'other foot you doubtless could he'p me; but in the present case it's possible I kin he'p you. I's on the outside lookin' in, whilst you is on the inside lookin' out, ez you mout say; so mebbe I kin 'scover things w'ich you'd utterly overlook. The fly be-holes whut 'scapes the elephant's eye an' the minner gives counsel to the whale. Mebbe I ain't gittin' the words routined right fur to 'spress my meanin's, but, even so, I reckin you gits my drift, don't you, suh?"

"I follow you perfectly, with an ever-increasing admiration," he says. "Go ahead. This look like our lucky day anyhow – let's press the luck!"

"Yas suh," I says. "Now, f'rinstances," I says, "you tek the 'foresaid Mr. H. C. Raynor. Wen you spoke to him of lawsuits yistiddy he mouty nigh laffed in yore face, didn't he? Well, 'at shows he ain't got no dread of lawsuits. Prob'ly he's been mixed up in 'em befo'; most doubtless he knows the science of lawsuitin' frum the startin'-tape to the home-stretch. An' lakwise he'd have the bulge on you w'en it come to makin' figgers wu'k out lak he wanted 'em to, so he'd 'pear to be inside his rights an' you'd 'pear to be on the wrong side of the docket. I persume he's had a 'bundance of 'sperience in sech matters, w'ich you ain't. He knows his own system an' he knows you don't know it, w'ich fortifies him yit fu'ther. All right, suh, so much fur that. But s'posen, now, on the other hand, we wuz to layway him an' jump out of ambushmint at him wid a brand-new notion? I jedges he ain't got no rippertation to speak of, so losin' whut lil' scraps of it he mout have left wouldn't keep him 'wake nights worryin', 'specially effen he'd already salted away the cash w'ich he craved. But he do own somethin' w'ich he prizes most highly or elsewise I misses my guess – he's got a skin w'ich he's managed some way, by hook, or crook, to keep it whole up to now. An' ef right out of a clear sky he suddenly wuz faced wid prospect of havin' it all punctured up in mebbe fo', five, or six places, I figgers he mout start singin' a diff'unt song frum the one w'ich at the present 'pears to be his fav'rit' selection.

"There's just one thing more," I says, "Prob'ly it's 'scaped yore 'tention, Mr. Dallas, but I's been steddyin' Mr. H. C. Raynor off an' on an' I has took note 'at he's got some very curiousome idees in his haid 'bout the kind of folkses you an' me is. Didn't it never occur to you, suh, 'at he thinks practically all Southern w'ite gen'elmen is a heap more hot-haided an' fiery-blooded 'en whut the run of 'em really is? Didn't it never occur to you frum his talk, 'at he figgers 'at most ev'ry thorough-bred Kintuckian is prone to settle his argumints wid fo'ty-fo' calliber ca'tridges? Well, I's read his thoughts 'long them lines, even ef you ain't, an' I'm shore I got him placed right. Tha's whut I'm countin' on now, suh," I says; "tha's whar'in lays our maindest dependince. Does you see whut I'm aimin' at, suh? Or does you don't?"

He ain't needing to answer. His face is beginning to light up and his eyeballs is starting to dance in his head. So I knows the time is come for me to cease from preambling and get right down to cases. Which I accordingly does so.

I tells him the greatest part of what I aims to do. I tells him what-all he's to do. I tells him what 'll be the signal for him to bust into the picture. I tells him how he should deport hisself after he's done so. I can tell him what should be done up to a certain point, but, past that, as I says to him, he'll just have to let Nature take its coarseness.

I labors over him until I can tell he's getting his mad up – his hands begins to twitch a little and his jaw sort of locks and there's a kind of a reckless spunky look stealing onto his expression. That suits me. I wants him to be even more nervous than what he is now when the performance starts – the nervouser he is the better for our purposes.

When his dander is worked up to suit and getting more worked-up and more danderish every minute, I leaves him there and I goes out into the hall and I rings up the oil office. One of the help answers to my call and I tells him to please get Mr. Raynor on the line right speedy. In about a minute his voice comes to me over the wire.

"Hello!" he says, very sharp-like, "hello! – who is it?"

"Mr Raynor," I says, "this yere is Jeff Poindexter, speakin' fur Mr. Dallas. He desires 'at you will please run on up yere to our place soon ez you kin git yere. He ain't seemin' to be hisse'f today an' so he ain't aimin' to come down-town. In fac', right now he's layin' down, but he p'intedly insists on seein' you 'mediately. He says it's most highly important. 'At's the message he tells me fur to convey, suh."

"Well," he says, sort of grumbling, "it's getting on toward my lunch-time; but I suppose I could come. Tell him I'll be there in half-an-hour from now."

"Yas suh," I says, "thanky suh… Hole on, Mr. Raynor; they's jest one thing else." And now I lets my voice slink down, sort of cautious-like. "Mr. Raynor," I says, "I done deliver Mr. Dallases' word to you – now I wishes fur to say a lil somethin' on my own 'count. W'en you gits yere, please suh, come straight on up to the 'partmint widout bein' 'nounced frum downstairs an' walk right on in widout knockin' or ringin' the bell – the do' 'll be onlatched. I'll be waitin' fur you in the privit hall to 'scort you into the front room. I craves to speak wid you a minute, jest by ourselves."

"What's the big idea?" he says.

"I can't 'splain over the 'phone by reason 'at I mout be over-heared," I says; "but I allus has lakked you, suh, frum the fust – an' mebbe I mout give you a few p'inters 'at you sh'd oughter know befo'hand."

"Oh, I see," he said. "There's been some loose talking going on up there and you've heard something you think might interest me, eh? Fine and dandy! Well, Jeff, you're wise to line up with me – it shows you've got sense. You won't lose by it, either. I'm always willing to pay the top market-price for valuable inside information."

"Yas, suh," I says, "thanky, suh – 'at's partially whut I wuz figgerin' on. I'll be hoverin' 'bout on the look-out fur you, suh, 'cause it shorely is mouty essential – "

Right here I breaks off sudden, like as if I'd suddenly got scared that I might be eavesdropped on or interrupted or something.

Well, the fruitful seed has done been planted. Almost before I has time to hang up and get up from that there telephone it seems like to me I can feel 'em organizing to sprout under my feet.

Chapter XIX

Pistol Plays

I has fully half an hour to wait and I puts it in going over the program, as it has already done been mapped out, just to make absolute sure nothing ain't been left out. There's one switch in the plans, which I decides to make it right at the last minute, mighty near it. This here decision is that I'll shove things along powerful brisk once we gets going good and under way; which naturally this means I've got to change my Riverside Drive system. But circumstances alters cases and what's side-meat for one is cold poison for another. The way I looks at it, it all depends on the anigosity4 of the occasion. Now, with the lady, the best scheme, seemed like to me, was not to crowd the mourners, as the saying is, but just to lazy along in a weaving way, letting the specifications sink into her one by one and thereby thus giving her time to brood over each separate point as it come forth. But with him I figures the best plan is the quick-rushing plan. I figures I've got to take him short from the go-off and keep on shocking him so fast and so hard with promises of devastations that he won't have time to catch up with his thinking, and then at the proper time dash the mainest jolt of all right bang in his face.

But before that proper minute comes he's got to be rightly prepared in his mind for it. He's got to be hearing mournful music and muffled drums beating in his ears. He's got to feel an icy cold breath blowing on his overhet temples. He's got to have a raging fever in his forehead, but a heavy frost congealing his feet. And most of all he's got to have a sad picture dancing before his eyes of from six to twelve of his most intimate friends getting measured for white gloves. Just let them things come to pass, sort of simultaneous, and it's sure going to be a case of Sukey, bar the door, with our gentleman friend!

Leastwise, that is the way I organizes it in my head whilst I'm setting in that there little hall of ours waiting watchfully. Before a great while I hears one of the elevators stopping at our floor and I hears slinky kitty-cat steps coming along towards our door. So I knows that must be him and I gets back and sort of squats in the side passage leading off into the service wing, so I can come slipping out like as if I was in a hurry to meet him as he come in, but had been detained.

The door opens right easy and in slides Mr. Raynor, same as a mouse into a trap. I can almost see his nose wrinkling up like he's smelling of the cheese and craving to start nibbling at it. He looks round him and sees me and he gives me a meaning wink. I makes motions to him to be quiet, which that ain't necessary but it helps the play along for me to be plenty warnful in my manners; and then I tiptoes on up the hall towards the setting-room, leading the way for him; and he takes the hint and tiptoes along behind me. But at the setting-room door I slows up and steps to one side to let him pass on in first and that gives me a chance to spring the catch-bolt on the door behind us, unbeknownst to him. I takes his hat and coat, all the time rolling my eyes round on every side like I'm apprehentious somebody else might be breaking in on us from the back part of the apartment, and then I says to him in a kind of a significating whisper, I says:

"Oh, Mr. Raynor, I been truly oneasy in my mind 'bout you – I'm mouty sorry 'at you come!"

"Sorry?" he says, sort of startled. "Why, you telephoned me yourself."

"Yas, suh, I knows I did," I says; "but I wuz only obeyin' awders – an' anyways 'at wuz befo' things begun to tek the more serious turn w'ich they has took. I'd a-halted you at the front do' yonder an' turned you back ef I could've, but I wuz delayed back in the boss' baid-room tryin' to argue him out of his notion an' tha's how come I didn't git thar to give you the warnin' word. Or," I says, "ef they'd a-been time an' I'd a-got the chance – both of w'ich I had neither – I'd a-ketched you on the telephone an' stopped you befo' ever you started up-town frum the office. So this move – tollin' you in yere an' fortifyin' you up, suh, – is the onliest other one I could think of," I says; "an' so, no matter how it may turn out," I says, "I want you to carry wid you the 'membrunces 'at I done the level best I could fur you."

"Say," he says, "what's all this palaver about?" He's speaking quite bluffy, but even so I can tell that the uneasiness is beginning to seep into his ankles. "Why shouldn't I come here? I was sent for, wasn't I? For that matter, why shouldn't I come without being sent for? I'm not worried about my position in this row – I'm safe."

"Sh-h-h!" I says, "please, suh, sh-h-h! Keep yore voice down," I says, "whutever else you may do. This ain't no time to be talkin' loud," I says.