The Forged Note Part 57

When she was leaving the church at the close of the services, someone touched her arm. She turned quickly, with a pang of the heart, recalling with fright, having been touched a week before. She had no need to fear, however. It was the man who had taken collections.

"The pastor would like a word with you, Madam," he said, with his hat in his hand, and all politeness. She blushed, and then, turning, followed him back into the church, where she came upon the pastor, standing among several people.

"Ah," he said, advancing as soon as she drew near. "And this is the young lady we observed. Pardon me, Miss, but you are a stranger among us. We wish you to feel welcome in our church. I hope the service didn't bore you." He was a good man. Her ideal of a true Christian. She replied with embarra.s.sment, and blushed fearfully:

"Oh, no, indeed not, Sir! I enjoyed the service--oh, ever so much! And I am delighted to be made welcome here. I hope to come to services very often--every Sunday. I think you preached a wonderful sermon!" She paused now, too embarra.s.sed to go on. He saw it, and made haste to dispell it. Introductions followed, and invitations were the order.

It was over now, and she was happy. At that moment, she felt at peace with the world. And this included the evil black woman with whom she roomed, and who didn't attend church. She grasped the hands that now sought hers, and murmured kind words. Then she turned, and before her stood the man with the scar. She uttered a low cry, and the next moment, fell p.r.o.ne upon her face, in a dead faint.

CHAPTER TWO

"_It Was In That Church Last Sunday!_"

The Sunday following Mildred's departure was a sad one in the Jacobs'

household. Since she came to it months before, Sunday had always been distinguished from other days. It was then that all talked and smiled, and indulged at length in other pastimes that make home happy. And that is why today was the saddest day they--Constance and her brother--felt they had ever experienced. Neither could keep their gaze from wandering to the empty chair, and down in the hearts of each was a constant cry, though both surpressed it with a mighty effort: "Where is she today?"

It was Wilson who broke the silence. Was it perhaps the one woman who had filled that empty chair only last Sunday, gay, cheerful, happy and hopeful? Wilson Jacobs felt as though he should choke. Constance saw his emotion 'ere he spoke, and experienced a choking sensation also. She hadn't become reconciled to the absence, and all the week through, she had been like one in a trance.

"Can we ever give Mildred up, Constance?" Constance did not reply. She did not raise her head for fear he might happen to see her eyes. But after a time, she could hold back the tears no longer. All at once they came in a flood, and her whole being gave up to convulsive sobs.

"There, there, dear," he cried, rising and coming hurriedly around to where she sat. Whereupon she became worse. He raised her to a standing posture, and took her affectionately in his arms, but the weeping went on unchecked. He held her and stroked her hair with his hand, but said nothing. He could not, for he was too overcome himself. By and by, he knew it would pa.s.s, and then they would speak of her in the terms they had known her. She was a good girl.

"Oh, Wilson, I will never get over it--never, never, never!" Constance moaned and gripped him convulsively. "Just think of it, too, and when we were beginning to realize how much she was to both of us. And just think how she acted about the Y.M.C.A.! Went to the bank and drew all the money she had saved this summer, walking by day in the sun to sell the book, and gave it, every dollar of it, to the cause of our people!" She cried harder now than ever. He drew her closer, and as he did so, one tear dropped from his eye upon her hair. She never felt it, and he would not have had her know for anything. He was a strong man, and had ever kept from tears.

"If we could only do something, only help a little," he said now, in a constrained voice. "I would give the rest of my life to the cause of that girl," he said, with words that spelled of fire. "Whatever this lurking evil is that has driven her from the protection of those who love her, _it was in that church last Sunday_!" He paused now, and while he stood silent, his sister released herself, looking at him for a moment sympathetically, and then sank again into the chair.

Their breakfast had been neglected, forgotten, and was growing cold.

"Come, Wilson," she called softly, and pointed to his plate. He heard her and obeyed. They ate in absolute silence, automatically putting from their minds the emotion that had possessed them.

And even as he ate the food, with the strength it required to force it down, his mind played about the incident connected with her strange leaving. He tried vainly to recall who was at the church that he did not know. And it occurred to him that there were many. Yes. There were many; then he remembered suddenly how cheered he had been, when he saw his little church filled to its capacity. He recalled with a pang, that, as he stood at the rostrum, Mildred had pa.s.sed, and, upon seeing him, had glanced at the congregation that had gathered, and then back at him and smiled. He continued his meal, but he knew he could never forget that smile.

Mildred Latham had wanted to help him. And when she saw his small church filled with people that day, some there purposely, while others were merely curious, she had, in that smile, shown how glad she was. It was that unselfishness about her, which was evident in many little ways, and which had finally won him.

And she had played and sung that day with all the strength of her body and soul. She had struggled in every way she knew how, to help him in his great effort. She had gone to the bank and drawn all she had saved in the months he had known her, as further evidence of her regard for this human welfare. She had acted, in doing so, at the most opportune time. With such a sum from an unknown girl, others, during the week, had surprised even themselves by subscribing sums that made the success of his work seemed a.s.sured. And cash was given where it might not have been otherwise. He knew his people a little. And when someone started the ball rolling, by means of patience, fort.i.tude, hard work and application to the task, others can be found who will keep it going.

And why had Mildred Latham done this? Certainly she had not done so because she was in love with him. She had never shown any affection for him in that way. She had been interested in him, because she felt that he was sincere in his effort to help his fellow men. And she had given the sum to the proposed Y.M.C.A., because she was _interested in humanity_, and that was her mite to prove it....

And on the heels of this, she had--almost in the same moment, been driven from the place she had appreciated as home.... Who was this beast, for positively he was a beast.... When he got to a man in the case, he could never go further. For, think as he might, he could not, in some way, connect her with a man. A man it might be; but he felt positive she had no relation with anyone. And yet, what was it? Just something, and after that, all was blank.

They had finished their meal now. And he rose and strolled out upon the porch. He drew a cigar and, lighting it, started to smoke. It was a beautiful morning, and one to make even the sorrowful happy. But Wilson Jacobs was not happy. He gave up to the delight of the moment, and for a time, he forgot the harrowing sorrows.

The trees that lined the street were heavy with foliage, and gave forth the sound of many song birds; while a soft wind made the leaves rustle ever so little.

Presently, a man came down the street. On he came until he was even with the house, and then, for a brief spell, he paused at the gate. Until then, he had apparently not observed the man sitting on the porch. He glanced up and saw him. Then, with something akin to an air of guilt, the stranger pa.s.sed on, and, as he did so, Wilson gave a start. His thoughts flew back over the past, with electric rapidity. Where had he seen that man before? "Where, where, where?" His thoughts were fairly alive. His lips grasped the cigar so tightly, that the lighted end fell to the floor, for he had bitten it in two, in his excitement. He kicked it from him with impatience, while he ransacked his brains in deep thought. "Where, where, where?" he cried, now almost aloud. And, strange as it seemed, in some way he connected this man with the disappearance of Mildred Latham. He raised his hands to his head to steady the thumping there, which by now had reached a state of violence. Just then the s.e.xton rang the bell of his church next door. The same broke forth upon the clear morning air in stentorian tones, and floated beyond, and then Wilson Jacobs sat up quickly, bolt upright.

"I have it! _I have it!_" he cried in a subdued voice, while his very frame trembled. "It was at the meeting. That man came in late, I recall it all now. He came in late and I saw him. He, I recall now, appeared to have no interest in the service; but his eyes sought something, and then I caught him looking at Mildred with a cunning expression!" Why had he not thought of this before? It was all clear to him now, as he arose.

And then it occurred to him to follow. He tore into the house, and seizing his hat, hurried out and through the yard, came into the street and looked in the direction which he had seen the other take. No one was in sight. He hesitated a moment, and then hurried forward in that direction. He presently came abreast of a house where people sat upon the porch. He halted a moment as they called out his name pleasantly, bidding him good morning. He calmed himself, and after returning the greeting, inquired quite casually whether a man had pa.s.sed that way recently, and he gave a description of him.

"No; but such a man as you describe came down as far as the corner back there," one of them explained, "and turned in that direction," and he pointed west.

"Thank you," he nodded calmly, and then retreated until he came to the place the other had turned. He stood for a moment, apparently lost in thought, while the people on the porch stared at him carelessly. A moment later, he pa.s.sed in the direction the other had taken.

But, while he had been advised that the other had gone in that direction, no one was in sight, he now saw with sinking heart. He walked for two blocks, making inquiries as he went, but no one had seen such a man. He was downcast for a time. Presently, he returned to his home in a disappointed mood. As he came by the church, the doors were open, and his few members were filing scatteringly in. He hurried into his clothes, and a few minutes later, stood before his congregation reading the text.

CHAPTER THREE

"_Uh! 'es Got'im a n.i.g.g.a!_"

When Mildred awakened, she found herself stretched upon a pew, with her head in a woman's lap, while the pastor and many others whom she had met a few minutes before, stood about with anxious expressions. Two ladies were fanning her face vigorously. She awoke with a start, and recalled quickly the moment she had fainted. She had never done so before, and had often wondered how people must feel when they fainted. She knew now; but that was not what she thought of, when it became clear to her. The man was her chief concern. She sat up and looked about her quickly. If she saw him, she felt that she must certainly lose consciousness again.

He was gone. With a sigh, she sank back into the arms of the woman for a moment. The fanning was more vigorous now than ever. All was quiet about her. She did not first understand it. Was it because they were afraid it might disturb her; or was it--had they seen--and _understood_? She was too weak just then to speculate about the situation; but she was delighted to hear the pastor say, a moment later, stroking her forehead kindly:

"You feel better now, Miss?"

She nodded, and felt now like crying. She understood facial expressions, and they had not seen. She was so relieved--for the present, and did not think then of the future. She had that to worry over later, and for this moment at least, she was relieved. These good people hadn't suspected the cause of her swoon. She sat up now, smiled with thanks upon those about her, and wiped the cold perspiration from her forehead. Someone held her hat, which they now handed to her. She placed it upon her head, covering the ma.s.s of hair that many were looking at a moment before, with natural admiration. Thanking them again in a kind and embarra.s.sed manner, she turned and left them, while they followed to the door, and went their many ways.

When she got back to her room, she experienced a spell of nervousness when she entered. She saw the black woman's face for a moment, and was again relieved. The other had not been there, so she nodded coldly, and entered her room. She closed the door, and, removing her apparel, got into a kimono and threw herself upon the bed.

She had no thoughts for a time, but surrendered herself to idleness for perhaps a half hour, and then her mind began to react. It took the form of reminiscence. Sidney Wyeth came back into her memory, and for a long time she lay thinking entirely of him.

It was he--and he never knew what had started her on this strange journey. She now recalled--or tried to recall why. And then after a time she knew. Yes. She loved Sidney Wyeth, and it was that which had made the difference. But what kind of love was this that had no hope? And yet did she not hope?

As she lay with the hot air floating in upon her, she gazed out into the street, where a dozen or so little black boys played. She thought, with her mind idly drifting, and she saw these boys as men, in her idle fancy. They gathered presently in a circle, and when she watched them in her half-conscious, half-waking manner for a few minutes, she saw they were shooting c.r.a.ps. Think of it! These boys, ranging in years from eight to twelve. And they were already engaged in that demoralizing pastime. She trembled with sorrow as she watched the game proceed. Soon she saw that an argument of some kind had come up. They became very demonstrative, and while this was going on, suddenly, from a remote direction, a blue-coated policeman appeared upon the scene. There was a scramble and they flew in many directions. All escaped, with the exception of one. He was a cripple, and as he tried to hobble away, the burly cop swooped down upon him. He grasped him, without regard for his infirmity, and disappeared up the street, dragging the cripple with him.

And that was a common occurrence in this city. Hundreds of young men--boys--were started on a career of crime by premeditated arrests.

They were often placed in jail when they were so young, that it was a tragedy. When they came out--for the courts could not bring themselves to sentence below a certain age--they were then pointed at as having "been in jail." And since they had the name, they often thereafter diligently sought the game.

As the policeman pa.s.sed up the street with the pitiful cripple, she rushed to the window to look after him. A little boy stuck his head through a broken fence, and she heard him say, as they went by: "Uh! 'es got 'im a n.i.g.g.a!"

Mildred stretched herself upon the bed again; but her thoughts were now of something else. The Y.M.C.A. and Wilson Jacobs. At this same hour last Sunday, she had been with him in his effort--his great effort. And the need of such an effort had just been demonstrated a few minutes before, almost beneath her very eyes.

There was no place to go; no place, as a rule, where young men would go, and this helped to make it so bad. Young men will play pool, some of them, and they will seek some kind of diversion, other than the church.

Their natures call for these things, and she knew it. Since freedom, the Negro has not been sufficiently practical to appreciate this point of view. Plenty of churches are available, and services are held all day Sunday. And it is easy, so easy, to say they ought to go--everybody _ought_ to go. But _does_ everybody go? _Would_ everybody go? And the most discouraging part of it is that _everybody does_ not go.

Some young men, if there were a clean place to go and indulge in the pastimes that are a custom with many of them, would be glad to avail themselves of the opportunity. Yes, they would be glad. And, by so doing, they would perforce meet others, who were likewise seeking amus.e.m.e.nt. Thus brought together, they would know and appreciate the good in each other. And still further, when they would go their many ways in life, they would naturally spread the gospel of good, or whatever was worth while. Such was the natural tendency of environment.

She had just witnessed such an example, a mere incident in the city's life. Those boys had not all known the game when they began to play. But those who did know it, and had likewise learned it from somebody else, had, of course, in turn taught it to these others, who would in turn teach it still to others, and so on. Evil environment, bad influence.

She had seen these lurking evils in so many places in this city of the south. And, as the months went by, they took heavy toll in startling numbers among the black children.

The effort of Wilson Jacobs would not soon be appreciated. It would take years for all these young men to see and know the real worth of such an inst.i.tution. But it was the duty of society, nevertheless (and what was the church but the center of society), to put forward all its efforts toward the evolution of its members.