Black Sadie/Part 2

Quecene and company traveled in the jim-crow car in Virginia; when the train crossed the Potomac River they arose and passed in solemn file into another car where white people were sitting. This was Quecene's maneuver. The girls would never have dared move. But Quecene was now quite worldly-wise. She knew things. She knew this about the cars. In the 'North' niggers and white folks were just the same.

Quecene pointed out the tall shaft of the Washington Monument and the dome of the United States Capitol. Was it snow made the dome so white? Even in September there might be snow ''way up North' so far as Washington. Quecene guffawed at the thought: 'Lor, chile, we'se got er long way ter go yit.' How could the world be so big!

How could the world stretch so many miles beyond Virginia! Hours and hours on the train. Quecene sighed wearily. She picked up a newspaper some one had let fall on the floor of the car. Sadie glanced at it over Quecene's shoulder. It was called 'The Police Gazette.' ​It was pink. It had pictures on every page. Some of the pictures seemed remarkably frank to Sadie.

At dusk the train reached Newark. What a long journey! Black Sadie felt entirely numb and very dazed. But Quecene stirred her up. Quecene, Sadie, and the two other girls got out of the train and came down into the tumult of Market Street. Quecene led her cohort by devious ways, but with a sure step. They came to roaring, squalid Orange Street and entered a vast ramshackle tenement. The tottering structure was fairly bursting with darkies. They crowded every nook and cranny. They overflowed on landings and stairs. They spilled themselves and their belongings profusely into the street. Men, women, babies, garbage.

Here Quecene resided with her spouse. 'Mr. Lowry' greeted them as they entered. The salutation was a dour look, and a return to his occupation. He was frying onions on a gas stove. Marvel! Sadie had seen water come out of pipes, but fire! Never! Quecene hailed Mr. Lowry with gusto. 'I'se got my gals,' she proclaimed. Mr. Lowry turned on them a bloodshot eye and made a little noise in his throat. ​Sadie likened him in her mind to 'er chaw er tobacco,' so brown and twisted and wry was he. He had bow-legs. They were very thin.

Quecene overwhelmed her mate with expansive jocularity. Mr. Lowry was submerged in the flood of her good-humor. His individuality simply flickered out. He could not stand before that tidal wave. No one noticed him again. The news of Quecene's arrival brought in crowds of inquisitive neighbors. They wanted to see her and they wanted to see the girls she had brought with her from the South. Quecene held high court. She recounted her adventures and experiences. She laughed loudly at her own tales and the world laughed with her. She commiserated the 'po' coons back home' . . . 'Ain't got sense ernough ter leave.' She congratulated her visitors, including herself, on being free, 'up-an'-comin',' 'livin' North.' Black Sadie shut her eyes. She had never in her life felt less free than at this moment.

She opened her eyes and looked at Quecene. Certainly Quecene was greatly changed, hardly the old Quecene at all. The days when she did Ole Miss's laundry and flung her anger freely around seemed very far away. She was ​so jolly here, so good-tempered. Who had wrought the alteration? Yes, who? Where was her old irascible temper? Ah, where? Quecene prattled on and on. She was showing off. She had been showing off for the last week or ten days. She showed off when she reappeared at home. Now, she did the same thing here. A rare opportunity. Delightful.

In the hubbub, the company coming and going, the two colored girls caught fast in Quecene's net looked awkward and scared. They shrank back against the wall in the shadows. Black Sadie sat by the window. She did not shrink, but she felt very light in the pit of her stomach. The guests examined the new arrivals. They looked them over. They asked them questions and laughed at the stammering answers. So quaint. Lucy and Ann began to cry. Somebody gave them something called doughnuts, bread, sweetish, fried, with a hole in the middle. Sadie ate one too. Not bad.

Quecene said she had a lovely place for Lucy and Ann. In a swell hotel. All they would have to do would be to wash marble floors; not another thing. Easy, she called it. Yes; a cinch. But 'my young cousin,' she would be taken on the morrow to Mrs. Fisher in East Orange. ​Mrs. Fisher had already paid the fee. Sadie would be parlormaid; salary thirty-five dollars a month. Well, Quecene had all the plans made. Her good sense was roundly applauded. Out of so much money Sadie could soon pay back the expenses of her trip. She could buy some swell clothes. Oh, the riches of 'Easter Orange'!

Black Sadie went to sleep with her head on the window ledge. She sat on the edge of a rickety chair. The night was very hot. A miasma of smoke, dust, and evil odors filled the air. Stifling effluvia. Sadie closed her heavy eyes. She thought of the fresh clear nights at home . . . and the mountains . . . and the far-away hooting of the trains. That same little moon over the roofs would be looking down on the Ritchie cabin, silver light on the green pokeweeds. Sadie wondered if Unc' Amos were feeding his pigs now, leaning on the top bar of the pen to watch them guzzle the slop. She heard their feet sloshing about in the trough. . . . Aunt Thorry was snoring in her trundle bed beside the sleeping carcass of Queer Sister. But no; it was Quecene asprawl in a rocking-chair . . . snoring. Mr. Lowry was nowhere to be seen. The callers from the other ​rooms were gone. Lucy and Ann lay across the bed. Night and sleep in the 'North.' Niggers!

Quecene injected Sadie into the family Fisher just as she had said she would do. The service-agent's fee had already been paid. The family Fisher was a delectable milieu in East Orange. They lived on Park Avenue near Brick Church. 'A very wealthy family,' said Quecene. 'Stylish too!' Black Sadie thought she must be a very lucky nigger. Thirty-five dollars a month. Whew-ee! What a lot of money! She would buy some vici kid shoes, like Quecene's, with high tops and laced up all the way.

The Fishers' house was a wonderful house. Sadie admired it highly. Outside, the shingle-pattern of the second story delighted her eye, and she liked the round towers at each of the two front corners. A wrought-iron deer stood between the house and the street. Sadie liked that too. And she loved the plate-glass front door, oval, and the transom and strips of ornamental glass down the sides of the doorframe. The ornamental glass was opaque, like sour milk with streaks of raspberry jam in it.

Inside the house Sadie was intrigued by the ​gas range and the gas logs in the blue tiled fireplaces. The furnace was wonderful too. But the bathroom! . . . 'You just pulled a chain . . .!' And the tub was white enamel. The 'help' had a 'convenience' of their own in the cellar. It made far more noise than the one upstairs, but it was less easy to hear because of being in the cellar.

The Fisher family was a wonderful family. Sadie admired them all. It took her some time to know who was who. At first she could not understand anything they said, but she soon found the language was like her own, only different. She understood it clearly for the first time when she heard Miss Rosie Fisher talking baby-talk to the canary bird. The canary bird replied with 'Cheep-cheep' a great many times. Miss Elsie Fisher never talked baby-talk to anything, but she took great pains to make Sadie understand. 'Sadie-e-e, shut the door-r-r-r.' 'Oh, de do'!' exclaimed Sadie, light breaking.

Mr. Fisher was a very grand person indeed. He wore frock-coats and shoes with elastic bands up the sides. He rarely noticed Sadie. When he did notice her he called her 'girl.' He ate chips and shavings out of a pasteboard box ​for his breakfast. As for Mrs. Fisher, 'she sho' do favor er fish,' commented Sadie, referring both to the lady's appearance and temperament. Sadie did not like the jet ornaments Mrs. Fisher wore. The little black buttons in her ears would never do for her.

There were three boys. Timothy was the eldest. He had buck teeth and heavy gums. And there was a fat one called Rob. Sadie did not like him. He followed her too closely with his eyes. It made her self-conscious. But the real devil was Herb. 'He sartunly do try hisself ter be hateful,' Sadie confided to Quecene.

The round towers at the corners of the house made round alcoves within. They were set about with many windows. In the downstairs alcoves flourished respectively a rubber plant and a cascading fern. Abovestairs, corresponding exactly to the rubber plant and the fern, were two old ladies, one in each alcove. One was Mr. Fisher's mother, and the other was Mrs. Fisher's mother. The two old ladies were invalids. They were also enemies. Fate alone compelled them to live under the same roof. Mrs. Fisher, senior, was sallow and thin. She trembled with palsy and had a bad temper. In her head were two hard brown eyes. Mrs. ​Perkins had watery blue eyes, and she did not tremble. She was dropsical.

Poor old ladies confined to the house! Sadie was very sorry for them. She brought them their meals three times a day. They told Sadie how they hated each other. Nobody loved them. Nobody cared whether they lived or died. That was not quite true. It would have been a relief to the rest of the family if both of the grandmothers had died. But Sadie sympathized with them. She said, 'Yes'm, sho' is.' They liked her very much.

Nobody neglected the two old ladies. Mrs. Fisher consulted their wants carefully. She gave them a great deal of her time. She impartially sat in the room of first one and then the other. The sun was in the senior Mrs. Fisher's room in the morning; in the afternoon it was bright in 'precious Mamma's' room. Mr. Fisher came to see them too. He came in state every Sunday afternoon. At other times he 'just looked in': 'All right to-day, lady?' Or, 'The top o' the marnin' to ye, Mither!' Mr. Fisher was so genial. He cheered everybody up.

Every night Miss Rosie Fisher would fly in to kiss each old lady good-night. She sang ​as she came, snatches from light operas . . . 'Madame Sherry,' 'The Chocolate Soldier,' or even the old favorite 'Flora Dora.' ('Tell me, pretty maiden, are there any more at home like you?') Miss Rosie Fisher was so very light and gay. Winsome. Miss Elsie Fisher was neither winsome nor gay. She felt life to be a serious affair. She had a class in the Presbyterian Sunday School. But neither her temperament nor her occupation prevented her doing her duty to her grandmothers. She was strict with herself. Once every day she visited their rooms and asked them how they felt. They never felt well, sometimes worse after this acid visit. Black Sadie had great respect for Miss Elsie Fisher. She wanted a tulle boa like hers.

Sadie liked being 'help' and not servant. That was the difference between North and South. A real difference. Herb annoyed her by singing every time he saw her, 'I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!' Then he would say, 'The hell you do, blackie!'

In the service of the Fishers Sadie wore 'maid's uniform.' It was an alpaca dress and a white cap and apron. The cap and the apron were both very attenuated. They had strings ​behind. On Sadie's bush of obstreperous hair the cap looked like a bit of paper blown into a tree-top. But she felt very neat, and she was greatly pleased when she overheard Miss Rosie Fisher say, 'Isn't our colored help the cutest thing!' Whatever Miss Rosie Fisher liked was 'cute'; everything she disliked was 'horwible.' Her vocabulary did not possess many more adjectives.

Black Sadie did not sleep in the house of the Fishers. She went down to Newark in the street-car every night. Sadie adored the ride in the cars. They were new to her. She liked to see the automobiles too. They were just beginning to be common on the streets then. They went so fast, so softly, a trail of thin blue smoke spitting out behind. Sadie rented a room from Quecene. The room was very small. It had no windows, only a smudgy skylight. There was a gas-jet over the bed. Light enough.

Quecene took Sadie under her wing. She introduced her to all her friends in the tenement, and she took her to the Star A.M.E. Church. There was society! The church was open every night, not just on Sundays and during revival-times as in Virginia. Quecene said Sadie must 'join the Star Church.' One joined ​the church in Newark; one did not have to 'find the Lord' first as in the Baptist Church at home. So Sadie joined. She had to 'pledge dues' at the same time. Star Church was very different from Shiloh Baptist. It was more exciting. There were so many people.

Black Sadie thought Mrs. Fisher looked like a fish. She did. A kind of shad or haddock. Her forehead, nose, and chin taken at a glance described a single arc, and her eyes were on each side of her narrow head. The shape of her mouth completed the simile. When she walked her body wriggled, lithesomely, slowly. Mrs. Fisher certainly looked like a fish. She dressed herself in fishy fabrics and colors too, hard wet grays and damp tan silks. And she wore jet jewelry. Sadie looked in the black lacquer box on Mrs. Fisher's bureau to see if there was any other kind. There wasn't; only jet, necklaces, two bracelets, and some pendants. In the box was a cracked cameo. But Mrs. Fisher never wore that.

Indeed, the family had not much jewelry. Sadie felt deprived of possible opportunities for acquiring trinkets and little odds and ends such as she had had in Virginia. The Fisher ​family had few precious adornments for their persons. Rob had a high-school frat pin. He wore it pinned on the extreme lower corner of his vest, where it looked like some tropical insect trying to crawl under his clothes. Miss Rosie Fisher had a silver bracelet hung about with tiny gold and silver hearts. It jangled musically. Miss Elsie Fisher possessed a watch lashed to her wrist on a strap. 'The cutest novelty!' Timothy wore a pin in his tie shaped like the head of a horse entwined in a long whip. None of these articles seemed exactly attainable to Sadie.

On the dining-room mantelpiece stood a more plausible opportunity. Herb's savings-bank. It was a china bank, orange-color, and shaped like a little elephant. There was a slot for coins in the middle of the back, but by some patented contrivance they would not shake out. Some drastic action alone would release the contents. The bank felt most temptingly heavy in the hand. One day Sadie knocked it off the mantelpiece with the handle of her broom as she swept. The bank broke. The coins—pennies, nickels, and dimes—flew all over the place. Miss Elsie Fisher was present at the time. She said, 'Girl, how care​less!' In the scramble of picking up, Sadie managed to secrete a few coins for herself, about eighty cents. Mrs. Fisher docked her wages fifty cents to pay for the bank. The candle was hardly worth the price, was it?

Black Sadie stood petrified behind the pantry door. On the other side of the door she plainly heard Miss Rosie Fisher receiving parental rebukes and mandates. Terrible! Mr. Fisher thundered out his paternal soul. Miss Rosie Fisher wept and protested. Black Sadie trembled. And the trouble was all about a swaggering youth from Bloomfield who paid attentions to Miss Rosie Fisher, but after a manner not pleasing to her father.

'It is unladylike,' declared Mr. Fisher, shaking his heavy dewlaps. 'It shall not be said that my daughter is fast. I forbid you to meet young men on Main Street, young men who loiter on the curb, this young man in particular. Receive your company in your own home. You have a beautiful parlor. And I forbid you to sit with any boy on the piazza in the dark. Turn on the door-light. And'—Mr. Fisher raised an emphatic finger—'and at eleven o'clock all callers must go home.'

​Mr. Fisher paused. Mr. Fisher rolled his eyes severely. Miss Rosie Fisher sobbed aloud. She could not say a word. Mr. Fisher continued the mandates and rebukes. 'I solemnly forbid you to ride with any boy Lord-knows-where all over the Orange Mountain Reservation in an automobile. These rules may seem hard to you, a thoughtless, innocent girl, but to me, with my experience and responsibility as a father, I judge them indispensably necessary. They must apply to all the company you keep. But as for this Temple young man, he is doubtless well-meaning, but in his circumstances his attentions have little significance. You must return his ring. I do not wish to see it on your hand again. You are not engaged. I will not say you may not wear his fraternity pin, but an engagement ring is out of the question.'

Mr. Fisher's fatherly counsel reverberated through the house. Sadie trembled behind the pantry door. Miss Rosie Fisher wept afresh. The hour was stiff with tragedy and sorrow. Miss Rosie Fisher felt that her heart lay ruthlessly exposed to the probing gaze of every member of her family. That was mortifying beyond words to express. What should she do? ​What could she do? Papa was such a beast! Ah, me! Oh, my!

Mr. Fisher let fall one ultimate word, 'This is final!' and stamped out of the house. He repaired to his place of business 'on the other side of Central Avenue,' a lumber yard. On fine days Mrs. Fisher drove Mr. Fisher thither in the family phaëton; on other days, Malcolm, the outdoor man, performed that service. The phaëton came back for the incidental needs of Mrs. Fisher or Miss Elsie Fisher. The boys disdained the antique thing. So did Miss Rosie Fisher. With the single exception of Mr. Fisher, all the family wished ardently for an automobile. 'If we only had a Packard!' But they didn't. Mr. Fisher wouldn't.

Mr. Fisher returned to his business. Miss Rosie Fisher sobbed and stormed in the living-room. She badly damaged a 'throw' on the back of the sofa. The throw was a Spanish shawl. Miss Rosie Fisher wept into the Spanish shawl and twisted it agonizingly in her hands.

Black Sadie crept into the room. She soothed Miss Rosie Fisher. Miss Rosie Fisher was grateful for the comfort. She clung to Sadie and told her all that was in her heart.

​'Sadie, I shall elope with Ned,' she declared, 'after Easter.'

Sadie highly commended these bold sentiments. It lacked two months yet to Easter. She took away the rumpled throw and spread it out again on the back of the sofa. Yes; it badly needed ironing.

Miss Rosie Fisher enjoyed her romance. Black Sadie enjoyed it too. She became the poor girl's confidante. Delightful intrigue. Notwithstanding the paternal temper of the morning, in the afternoon Miss Rosie Fisher dressed herself in her velour dress with the hobble-skirt and fared forth on Arlington Avenue to meet her lover. She told him all the sad affair, and the lover felt desperate. Miss Rosie Fisher made much of the situation. She represented her father as an ogre. He would not permit 'you' to come again to the house. He forbade all communication. (Fibber!) Miss Rosie Fisher blushed and gazed on the ground. High romance. Tragedy. Thus the lady pictured herself thwarted in love by a cruel fate. It was most enjoyable.

Truth and falsehood blended perfectly. Miss Rosie Fisher lifted her hand and drew off the ring. 'I cannot wear this,' she said. 'My ​father will not allow me to. I cannot be engaged. I must never see you again.' Again she cast down her eyes and the tears began to fall. She truly pitied herself and believed most ardently in her sad plight.

These sentences and pronouncements threw Mr. Ned Temple into a paroxysm of wrath and sorrow. The paroxysm was quite satisfactory to Miss Rosie Fisher. It was all she wished it to be. She dried her eyes and looked into her lover's face.

Of course pretty soon she took back the ring to wear pinned inside her corset-cover. Modesty prevented her naming the garment to Mr. Ned Temple, the garment to which she would attach 'my darling ring.' She said instead, 'Against my heart.' And so they parted. Mr. Ned Temple said he would see her to-morrow and they would drive in his automobile in the Orange Mountain Reservation. Miss Rosie Fisher saw nothing to prevent. The situation was too exquisite!

Miss Rosie Fisher made a little cambric bag in which she sewed Ned Temple's ring. The little bag she pinned inside her corset-cover. 'My precious ring is always with me,' she told her lover. And she told Sadie all about ​it, too, and showed her the bag with the ring inside. Sadie was vowed to secrecy.

Several weeks passed. One Monday morning Black Sadie discovered in the wash, securely pinned to the corset-cover, Miss Rosie Fisher's ring. Ah!

At noon or thereabouts Miss Rosie Fisher ran into the laundry. She thought she had forgotten to remove some of the pink ribbons from her corset-covers. She would get them out before the clothes went into the water. The Irish laundress stood aside. Miss Rosie Fisher tumbled the things out on the floor. Sadie came to help.

'Sadie, I have forgotten my ring!'

They searched, but no ring, only pin-holes in the corset-covers. Miss Rosie Fisher was in desperation. Sadie offered many plausible suggestions . . . the pin must have been weak . . . the little bag with the ring might have dropped anywhere . . . on the street . . . in the house . . . where-not. True! Where might it not have gone!

Where indeed? Miss Rosie Fisher could never have guessed the answer to that question, the pawnshop of old Sol Bloom in Newark. Old tricks! Black Sadie!

​Star Church in the purlieus of Newark. Several nights a week Sadie went there. Quecene often went too. There were hundreds of church-members. The preacher's name was 'Reverend Rand.' The church was always referred to as 'the plant.' 'The plant' hummed with life. Large congregations listened to the sermons on 'racial uplift' delivered by Reverend Rand. God was rarely mentioned except as the most particular fetish of the 'African People.' He was quite at their disposal.

But the foundation stones of the Star A.M.E. Church were the societies. In them rioted the vitality of the plant. Quecene belonged to several and held many exalted offices . . . First Mistress, Noble and Superfine Lady, Third Dame, Grand Vice-President, and so on. Black Sadie envied Quecene. But she soon joined societies herself. She inscribed her name on the rolls of 'The Sons and Daughters of the Ethiopian Eunuch,' 'The Ladies of the Valley of Israel,' 'The Hope-a-Little Sickness and Death Benefit Society,' and 'The Dime-a-Day Helpers of the Star,' as well as several other lesser organizations for benefit and robbery. Each society had 'initiation.' There were dues proper to each. Ritual and regalia! Black ​Sadie was thrilled. Up-to-the-minute was the Star African Methodist Episcopal Church!

Star Church! It was very confusing. Black Sadie felt bewildered in its many cross-currents. She was introduced to the Reverend Rand. He looked down at the top of her head. She stared at the shiny whiteness of his shirt-front. His hand had the grasp of professional cordiality. 'Ah, just from Virginia!' was all he said. That was all the personal contact Sadie ever had with him. She saw him afar in the official distance of the pulpit, sweating, striving with his preaching, praying, extolling the 'African People.' The Reverend Rand was not unctuous. But what was it he lacked, or had? Sadie respected him, but she couldn't fathom him.

It was strange, things of the Star Church. No seeking; no mourning; no repentance. Race! Race! Race! The African People. Was this 'Gospel,' or something else? Sadie hadn't an inkling. The preacher's white shirt-front sometimes stuck out of his vest. It looked like a saucy white tongue, but somehow it did not seem ridiculous. His gesticulating hands moored it again in dock.

In the plant all were 'Mr.' and 'Mrs.' and ​'Miss.' The more intimate address of 'Brother' and 'Sister' was reserved for fraternal purposes within the bounds of the various societies. The societies had special privileges. Sometimes there would be 'Hope-a-Little' night. And on first Thursdays the 'Dime-a-Day Helpers of the Star' held a rally. And there were lodge funerals. They were styled 'corporate funerals,' not because the membership personnel was dead. No, indeed! But because all the members of the particular society attended in a body wearing the regalia.

The Ladies of the Valley of Israel gave a spider-web party in the church hall. A gigantic spider-web made of string stretched from floor to ceiling. From its bosom extended in great confusion a vast number of threads. Each thread was numbered by a tag at the loose end; the other end led to a prize hung in the meshes of the web. Each ticket-holder had a number. They began at the numbered end of the thread and traced their way to the prize.

At the spider-web party the excitement and the joy were great. Sadie, with some scores of other persons, frantically threaded her way towards the web and the prize. En route her ​thread became entangled with another. It belonged to a big black fellow with two rows of gleaming teeth. He had a most engaging smile.

They followed their threads together. When they got to the web, Sadie's thread went up beyond her reach. The man stretched up to pull down her prize. They stripped off the colored paper.

'What's your'n?' he asked, excitedly, like a boy. 'Mine's a hankcher.' And he giggled.

Sadie's prize was a necktie. They exchanged. The big youth gave Sadie some ice cream and a bag of popcorn. They laughed delightedly. Then they danced together. Sadie looked down at her companion's shuffling feet. His shoes were in two kinds of leather, patent-leather lowers, tan-leather uppers, and white glass buttons. Some sport!

'What's yer name?' he grinned at her. 'Mine's Peter; Peter Wright, never wrong!'

How amusing! Sadie told him her name: '. . . Ritchie, but I'se po' tho'!' The repartee flashed out. Sadie and Peter sniggered immoderately at the witticism.

People began to notice them. Some bouncing mulatto girls tried to lure Peter away, but he wouldn't go. They came around the hall ​again, laughing, arm-in-arm, calling to Peter over their shoulders. Quecene rambled by and cocked a discerning eye. Peter bought two of the lollipops from her tray. Quecene lingered. But he wouldn't talk to Quecene. He turned away and took Sadie by the hand: 'Do the cake-walk wid me,' he invited.

Peter put down twenty cents, ten for himself and ten for Sadie. Then they joined the line of contestants for the cake-walk. They won. A large lemon-iced cake. Peter gave it to Sadie. Everything Peter and Sadie did together was successful. What a delightful evening!

Peter walked home with Sadie. He told her he was a postman. He made fifty dollars a month. And Sadie told Peter about the 'swell Fisher family' in East Orange.

'Do yer keep company?' Peter asked.

Sadie promised to walk with him along the canal in Branch Brook Park on Sunday afternoon.

'Whar did yer get dat big black nigger beau!' exclaimed Quecene, when she came in. Sadie was in bed. She heard Quecene, but she didn't answer. There was a quality in Quecene's voice. . . . Could Quecene be jealous? Peter ​was a fine-looking man. Now Mr. Lowry had no 'looks.' His size was negligible and he was a most curious shape; besides he was rarely at home.

Mr. Lowry was rarely at home. He was a most mysterious person. As for his being a coachman, or even a team-driver, as Quecene had said, Sadie didn't believe it. He didn't smell horsey, ever. Yet he surely had some occupation because he never asked Quecene for money; moreover, he paid the rent of the flat, and the gas and the water bills. Sadie didn't understand Mr. Lowry. She didn't understand Quecene either, for that matter. Quecene had greatly changed since she 'came North.' She never got into a temper now, though sometimes she seemed a little dour. Mr. Lowry was always dour.

Sometimes he would be at home for days and not stir a foot out-of-doors, sleeping most of the time. Quecene never paid the smallest attention to him. They never conversed. Black Sadie learned to ignore him. He ignored her. Once Sadie heard him ask Quecene if she had 'tried' Sadie. 'Nope,' she answered shortly, and slammed the door.

​Callers came to the Lowry door, but rarely to come in. They knocked furtively. Sometimes Mr. Lowry would rouse himself from slumber and go out with them. Sometimes Quecene held a brief parley and would extract something from Mr. Lowry's coat pocket, give it to them, and they would go away. But Sadie was not at home much except to sleep.

Only once did Sadie ever see Mr. Lowry out-of-doors. It was her afternoon off. She came home early. Quecene was in high good spirits. She had just come from a rummage sale where she had purchased a number of fancy things. She advised Sadie to go. The sale was in a vacant store on Summer Avenue. So Sadie went. She bought a purple velvet hat, a pair of white shoes with buckles and high heels, and two pairs of tan drop-stitch stockings. Drop-stitch stockings were much in vogue, silk or not silk.

Black Sadie was quite pleased with her purchases. She came home the short cut through the by-ways above Broad Street. On the way she saw Mr. Lowry. He was relieving himself behind a barrel in an alley near the Westinghouse Plant. On the other side of the barrel stood Ann.

​Sadie had lost track of Lucy and Ann. She had not seen them since the night of their arrival from Virginia. They never came to Quecene's flat in the tenement, nor to the social rendezvous of the Star Church. Quecene never mentioned the girls and Sadie had forgotten to ask. Sadie thought Ann looked dreadfully. She had on hardly any clothes, and they were in rags and very soiled. She was worse than a slattern. She looked like a sick bitch that has littered in the gutter.

Sadie pretended not to see Mr. Lowry. She had delicate feelings. But here was Ann shivering against the wall. She stopped to speak to her. But when Ann saw Sadie, she took instant fright and ran away. Up the alley; out of sight. Mr. Lowry cursed vilely, volubly. His position prevented him moving. He tilted himself on his haunches and swore to God. Plainly he was furious at the flight of Ann. But why? What had Ann to do with him? It was puzzling. Black Sadie hastened away.

The very next Sunday afternoon Sadie encountered Lucy. How different she looked from Ann. In the pink of health! In the finest clothes! She had on a white feather boa. She ​was walking on Bloomfield Avenue, loitering along, stepping elegantly, holding up her long skirts affectedly in one hand. Sadie had on the purple velvet hat and the high white shoes. She stopped to speak to Lucy.

'Lars! You must be married,' she said, looking Lucy's finery up and down.

Lucy laughed and laughed. 'I'se lots better'n married,' she replied. Then she told Sadie a great many intimate and secret things. Black Sadie was appalled.

When she got home it was dark. Quecene lay on the bed cursing. Sadie struck a light. The room showed signs of a bad scuffle. Things were knocked over. Here and there the floor was dusted with a fine white powder. Was it salt? Was it soda?

Quecene mourned and wept. She had a cut cheek and a badly swollen eye. 'I'll kill 'at low-lifed stinkin' little nigger man yet,' declared Quecene. Did she refer to her husband? Had Quecene and Mr. Lowry had a fight? Almost incredible; such a tame little man!

An Italian plied the block outside the Star Church with a peanut-roaster. He had mustachios like a brigand and his cheeks always ​needed a shave. He was quite harmless. The people called him the 'guinea.' The peanut-roaster let off steam in a friendly little whistle. There were some jingling little bells on the handle of the thing. The peanuts were very good. After church trade was lively.

Peter Wright always walked home with Sadie. Invariably he bought a bag of peanuts from the guinea. Peter and Sadie did not talk on the way home. They ate peanuts. The bag lasted exactly to the door of the tenement. Peter never went in. Sadie never asked him to do so. Quecene had tried to entice him, but Peter never warmed to Quecene. He looked sorry for Sadie when he parted from her. Quecene called him a 'stuck-up cuss,' and she looked fractious and was short with Sadie. But Sadie presented to her an always impassive face, expressionless eyes. That nettled Quecene.

Peter made a ring of a horseshoe nail. He gave it to Sadie. Sadie took the ring. She put it on the fourth finger of her left hand as a matter of course. Neither she nor Peter said a word. Quecene said: 'A nice beau you've got! If I had a fifty-dollar fellow, I wouldn't have nuthin' but a solid gol' ring.' But Quecene had no ring of any sort.

​One night when Peter and Sadie came to church another Italian stood beside the peanut-seller. He had a grind-organ and a monkey, and the monkey was villainously old and wicked. He sat on top of the grind-organ doffing his little cap at the passers-by. He wore a trailing coat of yellow plush. When the monkey saw Peter and Sadie, he jumped down in a bored way and shambled languidly up to them. The organ-grinder wound out a wheezy tune. The monkey lifted off his cap to Peter and Sadie. They laughed at him and passed into the church.

Inside they met Sanctified Al. His legs were very short and his arms were very long and his feet turned out when he walked. Upon his stunted frame he wore a long yellow mackintosh. His face was stamped in a sanctimonious leer, pious, lascivious. Little globules of saliva oozed out of the corners of his mouth. Drool.

'Dar's er real monkey!' exclaimed Peter. 'Sho' is,' said Sadie, and they both laughed.

Sanctified Al perambulated about the church, traipsing up and down the aisles. His mackintosh trailed after him. The immediate concern of his soul at the moment was gathering a few people to go to sing and pray at the ​bedside of a sick woman. He asked Sadie to go.

The sick woman lay in a house on South Street. A miserable bed, ragged, filthy. She neither moved nor spoke. 'Far gone; far gone,' said Sanctified Al. 'Ease her over Jordan, friends. Pray, brother! Sing, sister! Ferry her over Jordan.'

The women began a low rhythmical moaning. Sanctified Al raised his pious voice in prayer. Two or three men joined in the orchestration. The woman on the bed never moved. The praying and singing went on for half an hour. Then came a knock at the door. It was the doctor. Some one brought a light. Black Sadie edged closer. She looked into the ill woman's face. It was Ann. She was dead.

One afternoon Sadie chanced to pass the door of Timothy's room. She sensed a faint odor of tobacco smoke. Now who could be smoking in Timothy's room? None of the boys were at home. Sadie knew that. What more satisfying to curiosity than to push open the door! A light cry escaped the lips of Miss Elsie Fisher. The haze of smoke surrounding her eddied with the cry. What a crisis for her!

​Miss Elsie Fisher, so proper, so prim! How meticulously she complied with all the social prejudices and conventional taboos of her day. A model young lady turning old-maid. As her years advanced and her admirers (never many) slacked off, Miss Elsie Fisher's disposition grew tart and her occupations 'serious' . . . Sunday School, Pastor's Aid Society (at the Presbyterian Church), embroidery, china-painting. Useful Elsie Fisher, so strict, so good.

But what of smoking? In the eyes of her world few things would compromise her more. It must not be done. Would Sadie release this scandal to that news distributor, the servant circles of the neighborhood? Could the lady retrieve self-assurance by shutting the mouth of the colored girl? She must try. She did. And the seal of the silence was a dress decked with passementerie plasters. It was well earned. Sadie admired it and so did Quecene. Canny Sadie.

Not long after this episode Sadie laid her finger on the pulse of two other members of the Fisher household, Herb and Rob.

'Yo' pa'll be mighty mad ef he ketches yer shavin' wid his razor.' Sadie had caught Herb ​in an adolescent experiment, and Herb feared parental anger. He cajoled Sadie. 'Sadie, don't you say anything about it, will you? I'll give you fifty cents.' The compact was made. And Sadie showed Herb how to hone the razor when he had done. Thereafter Herb ceased his pastime of teasing Sadie.

Rob met Sadie on the back stairs. He barred the way. Unmistakable! Sadie was amazed. What, this fat, sluggish boy! But she had a card up her sleeve for such a game with Rob. She played it. It was excellent finesse. 'I knows 'bout you an' Irish Minnie,' was all she said, fixing Rob with a meaning eye. The person referred to had recently lost her job because she was going to have a baby. Nobody knew whose. Sadie did not know either, but she ventured a guess and the guess hit the mark. Rob blenched. He fled away from Sadie. Sadie smiled. Rob never molested her again.

Sanctified Al perambulated the Oranges. He pushed before him a curious machine and rang a little bell. He was a scissors-grinder. He called at every door. Few people had scissors to grind. Those who did regretted it later. But if Al ground no scissors, he found ​his journeyings profitable. At every door he begged for small change for this and that and thus and so . . . 'Help the po' colored man in his work for God,' he said. Many were touched and gave him nickles and dimes. Business was not bad.

Sanctified Al came to the door of the Fishers. It was the back door. Sadie opened it. Al was surprised to see Sadie and Sadie was surprised to see Sanctified Al. Inquiry brought forth no scissors for Al to hack. Disappointing. He produced a soiled square of thick cardboard covered with transparent celluloid. Under the celluloid were indentations forming a star. Each indentation would hold one dime. The completed scheme would make a silver star.

'Maybe the folks would give me a dime for my card?' queried Sanctified Al. The saliva bubbled in the corners of his mouth. Sadie noted his blue gums and snaggled yellow teeth. She was dubious, but she took the card. She carried it from room to room, but nobody would contribute to Sanctified Al's card except the two old invalid ladies. They did so because they were superstitious. Mrs. Fisher said: 'Sadie, do not encourage beggars.' 'Yassam,' said Sadie. She kept one of the dimes for ​herself, and one she left in the card. Sanctified Al shuffled off.

Ten days later Sanctified Al reappeared. He was selling oranges. Mrs. Fisher bought some oranges, and Sanctified Al asked for a quarter for a colored children's home. But he did not get that. In another week he came riding in a rickety cart. He wanted rags and old newspapers. The cart was hauled by a flea-bitten mule. Al quavered a strange song and cry as he drove about the streets. Mrs. Fisher told Sadie to take him into the cellar to gather the piles of tattered newspapers near the furnace. Sadie gathered her skirts about her, took a long sharp kitchen knife from the table, and accompanied Sanctified Al below. He wanted to ransack the garret also. Sadie did not approve of this suggestion. She told him the garret was bare. It would be no use for him to go there.

Sanctified Al sat down on an upturned box. He seemed loath to depart.

'Nigger, what you comin' 'round here so much for?' asked Sadie. 'I'se got mer eyes on yer.'

'I'se got my eyes on you too,' said Sanctified Al. He began looking in his pockets for something. 'Youse a good gal,' he remarked.

​The adjective might imply a number of things. Sadie felt nervous. She picked up a bundle of papers tied together. ''Tain't no use staying down here,' she said. 'Git them two bales er papers an' come on.'

At the cartside Al seemed to have found what he had been searching for downstairs in the cellar. It was not a begging card or contrivance. It was a little blue envelope, rather soiled. Al pulled out the flap. 'Dis here snow,' he said, 'is mighty good stuff. An' dere's money in it too.' Al glanced interrogatively at Sadie. She did not understand. He saw that. 'Take er whiff,' he added, holding up the paper. But Sadie would not smell the powder. 'The Good Lord knows I don' mean you no harm,' said Al.

The cook called out of the window to Sadie. She left Al abruptly. Sometime later she looked out again. The cart and the mule and Sanctified Al were still at the back gate. Al seemed to be studying a little book. Then he was eating something. Later he rearranged the contents of the cart. Finally he drove off quavering his song and his cry. When he was well out of sight, Sadie asked the cook if she knew what 'snow' was. The cook looked hor​rified. 'It's poison,' she answered. 'I thought so,' said Sadie. Now she knew what caused Ann's deterioration and squalid death. Sanctified Al and Mr. Lowry, she would keep a wary eye on them.

Sadie thought she would ask Peter about this 'snow medicine.' Peter told her it was 'dope' and never to touch it. Sadie did not know what dope was, but she resolved never to touch it. She recalled Ann's dead face. It filled her with fear. Sanctified Al did not appear at the Star Church for several weeks. He was ill, people said. And Sadie was sure she knew why.

Festivity ran high when Mr. Fisher entertained his lodge. Once a year the noble and exalted and past-exalted rulers and potentates with their wives and daughters came to a 'fraternal reception' at the home of the Fishers. The whole household came into play for the occasion. Mrs. Fisher wore a dress covered with sequins which made her look more like a fish than usual. Scales and fins. The two young ladies poured tea and coffee, and the young gentlemen handed plates of ham, salad, and green peas to the company. Black Sadie ​served from the pantry, peeping through the swinging door for glimpses of the elegant assemblage. The 'outside man' came inside to take the hats and coats of the gentlemen, and a 'by-the-day girl' attended to the wants of the ladies.

The wants of the ladies were attended to upstairs. For that one evening in the year the two old ladies had to sit together in the same room. Mrs. Perkins's room was needed for the dressing-room of the female guests. The two old ladies looked forward to this day. It gave them exceptional opportunities to whet their hate for one another. They could also abuse the family in an uninterrupted tête-à-tête.

Before the first guests arrived, Mrs. Perkins was convoyed across the hall into the elder Mrs. Fisher's room. It was a delightful grievance to her 'to be put out of my own room.' The elder Mrs. Fisher complained of having people 'thrust upon her.' No better opening for a quarrel could be imagined. Hungrily the two old ladies seized the opportunity.

But before many verbal darts had had time to fly, Miss Rosie Fisher skipped in to kiss 'dear bumsey' (short for 'big mumsey') and ​do the same for 'b'l'air' (which must be imagined to stand for 'belle mère,' the name for the elder Mrs. Fisher which the younger Mrs. Fisher used when she did not want the servants to know whom she meant). Miss Rosie Fisher had so many pet endearments for her grandmothers.

When Rosie had done her devoirs to the two old ladies, she went into the hall to cover the cage of the canary bird with a green cloth. The cage hung in the window surrounded by lace curtains and ribbons. Miss Rosie Fisher lingered a long time at the cage conversing with her pet. She said, 'Izzy seepy? Wanter go by-by?' And the canary bird said, 'Cheep-cheep' as usual.

The two grandmothers observed Rosie in the hall. They heard her prolonged endearments with the canary bird. They were very jealous. 'She loves that bird better than she does me,' wailed forlorn Mrs. Perkins. 'The bird loves her better than you do,' retorted the elder Mrs. Fisher, smartly. 'Anyway, she knows you hate her,' snapped back Mrs. Perkins. 'Don't judge other people by yourself,' thumbscrewed Mrs. Fisher.

So Mrs. Perkins felt very hurt. The other ​old lady felt very angry. Murderous old females dueling together.

Downstairs the guests chattered 'lodge shop' and ate the abundant supper. A fair miss manipulated a ladle in a punch-bowl. The bowl had to be replenished a great many times. Mrs. Fisher swam about among her company entirely happy. Mr. Fisher moved jovially from group to group. The noble and exalted and past-exalted potentates and rulers of Mr. Fisher's lodge crushed themselves together in the hot rooms and thought they enjoyed themselves very much. So also thought their wives and daughters.

Upstairs the two old ladies quarreled and dozed. Despite the green cloth cover, the canary bird would not go to sleep. 'Cheep-cheep'; perpetually; 'cheep-cheep.' The twitter annoyed Mrs. Perkins. She wished the bird was dead. But the canary was much alive. Mrs. Perkins looked at the elder Mrs. Fisher asleep in her chair, her palsied hands still wobbling. That annoyed Mrs. Perkins also. She wished the elder Mrs. Fisher was dead. But she wasn't either. La, la; what could an old dropsical woman do to make the time go by?

​Mrs. Perkins scanned the slumbering countenance of the elder Mrs. Fisher. Nauseating old fowl! The peeping of the canary bird pricked her nerves like a pin. Mrs. Perkins scanned the open door and the hallway. The by-the-day girl had gone downstairs for some supper. The only two living things awake on the upper floor were Mrs. Perkins and the canary bird. Mrs. Perkins hoisted herself out of her seat and lumbered into the hall. Mrs. Perkins aspired to be helpless. One got more attention if one were helpless. But at this moment there was no one to see whether she was helpless or no. Mrs. Perkins lifted the green cloth cover off the bird cage. She glared weakly at the small yellow thing hopping nervously about from perch to perch. She looked at the bird a long time. On the window-ledge lay a bit of string. Mrs. Perkins eyed the string. Then she eyed the bird. Then she made a noose in the string and dangled it through the bars of the cage. The canary bird was soon dead. Mrs. Perkins withdrew the string, recovered the cage, and turned herself around.

Mrs. Perkins turned herself around to creep back to her chair. Her eyes looked into those of Black Sadie. Black Sadie stood on the ​stairs, just her face appearing above the edge of the floor. Mrs. Perkins let out a low moan. 'Sadie, come and help me. I wanted to go to the bathroom. I called and called, but nobody paid any attention to the distress of this old woman.'

Mrs. Perkins sank heavily into her chair again. Opposite her, fast asleep, sat the elder Mrs. Fisher. Mrs. Perkins's hands trembled as badly as those of the palsied woman. 'Sadie,' she whispered, 'I could not stand that bird another minute. I hated it.' The old lady reached in her bosom and took out her purse. Sadie saw it was crammed with bills. 'Sadie, no one must know; just you and I,' and Mrs. Perkins extracted a dollar. 'Five dollars,' said Sadie, holding her hand towards the purse. 'Yassam, 'tain't nobody goin' ter know 'cept we two.' The spring in the trap hurt, but the poor old lady was fairly caught. As a matter of fact she would have paid any price rather than have her little escapade known. Sadie held her in the hollow of her hand.

In the morning Miss Rosie Fisher discovered her canary bird feet up on the floor of the cage. Cause of death unknown. The poor child was inconsolable. Many tears, and they were part ​sentimental and part genuine grief. She had loved her bird. She buried him in a shallow grave in the back yard. Sadie cleaned out the cage and stowed it away in the garret.

Like the Day of Judgment, a new heaven and a new earth when least expected, came a day of wonderment and ecstasy for the Fishers. No previous warning, not the least inkling, complete surprise!

The phaëton went as usual to fetch Mr. Fisher home to lunch. But the phaëton did not return. Instead a Packard car swept round the corner and halted at the iron horse-head hitching-post. Mr. Fisher leapt out of the Packard. The phaëton was no more; sold to the junk dealer. The horse was no more; no one even inquired of the fate of ancient, faithful Susie. And the lumber yard was no more; converted into the automobile business! What shrewdness in Mr. Fisher! A future fortune lay in automobiles. What a secret he had kept!

The Fisher family throbbed with astonishment. The Fisher family pulsated with joy. And they all went to ride. Immediately, all the afternoon, the Packard did jitney service ​for the Fishers. So swift, so smooth, pneumatic tires, and a mechanic from the garage to drive. Even the two old ladies, who had not been downstairs for over a year, were bundled up, hauled below, and taken for an airing in the Packard. Sadie drove in the Packard. Cook drove in the Packard. The outside man drove in the Packard. The Fishers were beside themselves. 'Our marvelous new "machine"!'

The automobile revolutionized their life. Mr. Fisher, Timothy, and Rob learned to drive the car. Mrs. Fisher went to Newark to market and shop. Miss Elsie Fisher entertained segments of her Sunday School class from time to time by taking them to drive. It was cheaper and less messy than ice cream. The two old ladies wished to go out every day. They were quite rejuvenated. And Miss Rosie Fisher determined to postpone her intended elopement, at least she would not surprise Mr. Ned Temple by springing the idea on him just yet.

An automobile is a great thing!

There were many surprising and delightful things in the North. Black Sadie enjoyed life ​very much. So much to see. So much to hear. And many things to do.

The Fishers' 'Victor Victroler' was a miracle of the first magnitude. Real human voices, real music, all on one round plate. The younger Fishers played the 'Victroler' a great deal. Sometimes they danced. Sadie loved to hear the music and she loved to watch the dancing . . . waltz, two-step. When the elders were not present to prohibit, the young people . . . ventured wickedly into the new dances . . . one-step, fox-trot. Some had such droll names . . . the bunny hug, the bear walk, and the dip. Miss Rosie Fisher learned all the 'cute' new steps. Sadie learned them too, in private, behind the pantry door.

In Newark there were moving-picture theaters where colored people might go. Sadie went with Peter. It was better than church. The price of a ticket was only fifteen cents, some places, ten. Inside it was dark. A mechanical piano pounded gayly. But the pictures, they actually moved! Just like life. And such deep and dangerous mysteries, such escapes, such tender scenes, such jokes on the screen. When the picture show ended, Peter and Sadie would go out for something to eat . . . ​hot-dogs, coffee and sandwiches, ice-cream cones.

Once Peter took Sadie into an eating-house near Market Street station. He called it a 'Yidd joint.' Peter handed Sadie a greasy card. 'What's yer choice?' he said. The printed words on one side of the card Sadie could not read at all. On the other side they were equally unintelligible, though the type seemed all right. However, it must all be food. At the top of the card Sadie saw a word in large letters. That would be the principal dish. So Sadie said she would have some 'Kosher.' Peter laughed very much and so did the man across the counter. Peter ordered her some gifiltha-fish, and she liked it well enough.

Rally and revival at the Star Church. Crowds of people came every evening. The large auditorium was packed with darkies and religion. The meeting was well organized. The Reverend Rand acted as chairman and leader. He had two specially invited assistants, Reverend Tolley from Harlem, Reverend Smithy from Elizabeth. They worked hard at the revival, relieving one another. Preaching is exhausting labor. At the end of the week there ​would be a 'drive' for new members. The societies hoped for replenished rolls also. But the real objective of the revival was fifteen hundred dollars.

The Church was decorated with flags and festoons of ornamental paper. The lodge called 'The Ravens of Elijah' furnished a band . . . drums, clarinets, and a monstrous tuba. The band sat on a specially improvised stage draped with purple and green bunting. Opposite them, on a similar stage swathed in red and yellow, swarmed a large chorus. The chorus was inspirited by an energetic cheer leader. The Star Church did not do anything by halves.

Sanctified Al was much in evidence. He was beside himself with self-importance and happy interest. He wept when the mulatto soprano sang 'The Ninety and Nine.' He wore his long yellow mackintosh. The mackintosh was his official vestment. He never did anything sans the mackintosh. Sanctified Al threaded the aisles . . . up one, down another. 'Brother, are you saved?' 'Sister, let us pray.' He was quite in his element. He testified. He exulted in the Lord. The saliva was plentiful at the corners of his mouth.

​Mr. Lowry also went to the revival. He was a marshal with a red-and-white ribbon across his chest. And Quecene was there, in the chorus. She sang finely in a strong, throaty contralto. Peter Wright was in the band. He blew a fife. Sadie saw Lucy across the hall. Lucy did not belong to any of the lodges, so she sat in the unreserved seats with visitors and hangers-on. Lucy was very much dressed-up . . . white and yellow chiffon, and a chiffon hat. She had a long feather fan. People looked at Lucy curiously. But little did she mind being conspicuous. She liked it. Her spirits were high and gay. After the services crowds of young men assembled around her at the door. The revival furnished good business opportunities for Lucy.

On the fifth night the revival rally reached its height. It was a great success. Sadie came to the church directly from East Orange. There wasn't time to go home. She put on the white-and-green cloak proper to the Ladies of the Valley of Israel. They marched into the church in a body. All the societies did. A resplendent marshal piloted each group. Mr. Lowry led the corps to which Sadie belonged. As they came down the aisle, Quecene waved to ​Sadie from the chorus box. That was amiable of Quecene. Sadie felt that the dignity of the moment forbade a return of the sisterly salute. Her eyes ran over the ranks of the band. Peter's chair was empty.

Mr. Lowry led the Ladies of the Valley of Israel to their allotted seats. All the Ladies of the Valley of Israel sat down simultaneously, at a signal from the marshal. Sadie sat down. She was on the end of the row of chairs. She looked through the hoop of Mr. Lowry's bowed legs as he returned up the aisle. The 'Eyetalian' monkey could give a fine entertainment jumping through those legs. The thought amused Sadie.

The Reverend Rand stepped forward to the edge of the platform. He held up his hand. The time to open the meeting had come. There was a hush. The marshals retired to the back of the church. Sadie saw Sanctified Al scramble in through the bandmen's door. He beckoned to Mr. Lowry. Mr. Lowry went down the aisle again and Sanctified Al hustled to meet him halfway. He seemed very perturbed. He slobbered liberally. Sadie saw him whisper something to Mr. Lowry. Mr. Lowry said something to him and Sanctified Al went ​out through the bandmen's door again. He seemed in a great hurry. The yellow mackintosh blew out behind him.

The choir stood up. They began to sing. The drums beat a heavy rhythm. Mr. Lowry made his way to the chorus box. He held a short colloquy with Quecene, and Quecene left the box with Mr. Lowry. They did not return. Sadie did not see Sanctified Al again either. Soon she forgot all about them.

The services continued. The power of the revival captured Sadie. She was sucked into its vortex of rhythm and emotion. It was very exalting. She enjoyed it. The band played great swashing melodies in march tempo. They played soul-stirring spirituals too. Sometimes the choir sang with the band, sometimes without. The Reverend Rand surpassed himself. So did the other ministers. They preached 'Christ for the world,' meaning in particular the 'African People.' Most likely Christ had been a colored man. The congregation were disposed to think so too.

The people in the Star Church were carried to exceeding great heights that evening. Such a successful rally revival. When Sadie came out to the door, she looked about for Peter. He ​had not been in the band, but he never failed to meet her at the door. No Peter. All at once the tension sagged. Sadie felt depressed. Most of the people had already gone away. The Italian with the monkey jerked the leash and the little animal jumped up and down indifferently, sleepily. But Sadie paid no attention to his feeble capers. She did not look at the peanut-man either. She turned away to go home by herself.

Sadie walked down Central Avenue. When she crossed High Street, Peter met her. He had on his postman's uniform and slung on his shoulder the leather mail bag. 'Zat you, Peter?' she exclaimed, startled. How unexpectedly he had come out of the dark right beside her. 'Z' me,' he answered. He touched her arm and they walked south on High Street.

Peter would not let Sadie go home to the tenement. The police had been there, raiding. It was a bad house. The 'wagon' had taken a number of men and women out of it to jail. The police were drawing a dragnet over the whole neighborhood. Worst of all, they were looking for the Lowries. In Sadie's room, under the mattress on her bed, they had found ​a cache of dope, 'snow' mostly. But the police could not find out the name of the tenants of that flat. The people in the tenement had behaved very well. They would not 'peach' or 'squeal' on the Lowries. They would not tell the names of any of the people the police asked about, inventing fictitious names. Really, they knew nobody.

Black Sadie was thunderstruck at Peter's tale. Evidently Mr. Lowry and Quecene had got wind of the raid and escaped. Sanctified Al too. But what a 'low-lifed' trick for Quecene and Mr. Lowry to play on her, hide their dope under her bed. She would never have suspected it. But Peter thought she would be safe enough unless the Lowries were apprehended and tried to 'pass the buck' to Sadie. But they had escaped. Sadie hoped they would not be caught.

But Peter said she must not go back to the tenement. He would look after her. She must come home with him. He lived by himself in a rooming-house 'down Neck' (a part of South Newark). The time had come to 'hitch up' together. So Sadie went home with Peter. Peter was hers now.

Two days later, Peter and Sadie moved from ​the room 'down Neck' to Harrison. By some means Peter had got all of Sadie's effects from the tenement. The flat was vacant. Mr. Lowry and Quecene . . . nobody knew where they had gone. The police were still looking for them, but they were well hidden. Peter told Sadie not to go near the tenement. They did not put in an appearance at the Star Church either for several weeks. Every day Peter got up early to 'take his route,' and Sadie went to the Fishers as usual. When they got home at night, they had each other. No further need of diversion.

Was Black Sadie married to Peter? She wasn't sure. She lived with him, and Peter would say to his friends, 'Meet my wife.' Sadie asked Peter if she could call herself Mrs. Wright. Peter said: 'Sure, I don't care.' He wanted her to change her name to Lily or Pearl, but Sadie wouldn't do that. Peter said when he got his summer vacation he and Sadie would go to Tarrytown and have a wedding. So Sadie looked forward to that.

Now that Sadie lived in Harrison, she ceased to use the street-cars on Orange Street. She took the D. L. & W. train every night, Brick Church to Harrison. Once at the Newark ​station Sadie spied Sanctified Al from the car window. He was below the tracks, sitting on an upturned oil tin, watching some boys playing ball in a vacant lot. Sadie was glad he couldn't see her. She told Peter about it. Peter said: 'That nigger sure is sanctified. Can't nuthin' tetch him.'

In May Halley's Comet appeared, feeble and far off. The astronomers said, on the contrary, it was quite close to the earth, comparatively considered in sidereal space, and they set dates for the earth to be swept by its luminous tail. People believed all the astronomers said, and they invented many other things to believe about the comet too. The lay mind. Some religious quacks announced the end of the world. They sat up at night and looked at the comet. Many other people too sat up all night and looked at the comet. But they were not religious quacks. They were people having 'comet parties.' A novel idea.

Some friends of the Fishers in South Orange gave a comet party on the night of the comet's closest proximity to the earth. They called it the end-of-the-world party. The entertainment was so ordered as to carry out that ​stimulating thought. The guests wore mourning. The decorations were black and white. The tables were shaped to look like coffins. And the things to eat . . . deviled ham, deviled eggs, 'damn sandwiches,' angel-food cake, 'salvation ice cream.' Miss Rosie Fisher thought it all the 'cutest' thing.

Miss Elsie Fisher was not invited to the party, most inconsistently with the theme of the occasion, because she was 'such a crapehanger.' Timothy drove Rosie and himself to South Orange in the family Packard. Mr. Ned Temple was there too. He and Rosie put her black veil over their heads and declared they would die together. Instead they kissed. So naughty. It was a scream, those two!

The guest of honor was a peroxide blonde from New York. Her lips were so red that her teeth looked yellow. Her name was Constance. So gay, so droll. She was the life of the party. The boys and girls were in fits of laughter. She taught them a new way to dance. Shimmy. Constance said she had just learned it the night before at the Yale 'hop' at the Hotel Astor. She danced it first to show the others how. 'The end of the world makes me all nerves,' declared Constance, 'hence I shimmy.' ​Shocking! But so daring, such fun. They all tried it and laughed very much.

Timothy Fisher bared his buck teeth and asked Constance to dance. He was astonished to find that she wore no corset; no whalebone ramparts between his hand and the girl's back. Doubtless something new and advanced in female styles. But disconcerting to a Fisher. Timothy had inherited the best ideals. Constance clung to him. She gazed into his eyes. She told him she 'adored' dancing with a 'grown man.' The other boys were 'just kids.' She said he danced 'divinely.' Timothy was greatly flattered. He listened eagerly. Constance said she had been told that he was a marvelous business man . . . successful . . . making a fortune in the automobile business. But she said she didn't care about money and she would think him the nicest man in the world if he hadn't a cent. Timothy warmed to the praise. He displayed palisades of teeth.

Midnight! The end of the world! How to celebrate it? Lights out and a fox-trot? Constance had something more daring. They must all 'ride to the end of the world' in automobiles. What a pun! The witty creature! Timothy said he could take five in the Packard. ​Constance screamed when she saw the Packard. She positively refused to ride with the animals in Noah's Ark. She leaned against Timothy, and said: 'Can't you get a two-seater just for thee and me?' What could Timothy do but play up to this daring suggestion? Off to the Fisher garage he posted and was soon back in a high-powered two-seater. Constance stood on the curb waiting for him. The others had gone.

Timothy drove at breakneck speed. Constance said she 'adored' fast drivers. They came to Morristown. Constance wanted to dance at the Inn. But the waiters were closing up. Timothy said it must be rather late. Nearly two o'clock. Time to return. The automobile was turned towards South Orange. So late, so far.

Constance said she felt cold, so Timothy put one arm around her, driving with the left hand. She snuggled close to him. She put her head on his shoulder. He kissed her. Expected. Intoxicating to Timothy. She called him 'my comet lover . . . into my sky to-day, out to-morrow.' Timothy whispered: 'I never want to be without you.' Gallant if banal. Constance said: 'You make my heart beat . . . so!' ​She took his hand to lay against her heart. But between the hand and the heart was a warm, soft, round breast.

The girl's warm, firm breast. Timothy trembled so he stopped the car. Constance let him put both arms around her. 'What do we care?' she whispered. 'It's the end of the world, anyway. Let's get married . . . now!'

Timothy was as befuddled as infatuated. Married? What?

They drove to Montclair. Constance would not let him so much as touch her all the way. What a strange girl! What a tantalizing creature! The end of the world! They drove to Montclair. They routed out the town clerk for a license. They called from his bed a drowsy Baptist minister. Married!

Timothy and Constance stood on the curb outside the blind-looking front of the parsonage. 'Now what?' asked Timothy. What now? He felt utterly bewildered. Day was breaking. The end-of-the-world party must be over. Quite over. What reckless foolishness had he and this strange girl committed? Married! Appalling fact! Timothy felt ill and weak. Married! What madness! What now? ​Sadie and Peter lived in Harrison, across the river from Newark. They were very happy together. She made Peter a good wife. Kept his clothes in order. The bed was made every day before she left to go to East Orange and the home of the Fishers. Sadie was more comfortable than she had been in the tenement in Newark. The den she slept in there had not been luxurious. Her wages with Peter's made excellent living.

Sadie had every other Thursday afternoon off. These she devoted to Poro—not a game, but laborious hair-straightening. She went from 'method' to 'method' . . . Madam Clare's, Jackson's, All-Straight, Madam Wolley's. Sadie's hair was very thick. It was also very tough. Sadie's hair defied to be straightened. Poro was a failure.

Then she heard of a new 'method'—Madam Ritchie's. The name attracted her because it was her own. She sought the address. It was in a back street east of Broad. In the window stood two forms, heads; one with a mop of incorrigible kinks upon it, the other with the smoothest, most elegant coiffure. 'Madam Ritchie's Method' was printed in gold letters on the door. Sadie pushed open the door. ​A little bell tinkled when Sadie entered Madam Ritchie's establishment. The room was divided into two parts by a white cotton curtain. The front part contained two wicker chairs and a small table with some smudgy magazines upon it. The white cotton curtain was pulled aside. The other half of the room contained Quecene!

Quecene and Sadie were very surprised to see each other. They chatted like sisters. Each felt that she could afford to let by-gones be by-gones. Quecene said she and Mr. Lowry were divorced. She did not know where he had gone. She cared less. He had always got her into trouble. Her Poro business was very good, and she had other ways, too, of making a living. She owned the house and let rooms. Sadie told Quecene she was married to Peter Wright and lived in Montclair, which wasn't true. But Sadie was shrewd. She never went to the Star Church now. Quecene did not go either. She was learning astrology and did not need church. Her 'Circle' was on a higher plane than church. Why didn't Sadie learn Poro and astrology? Sadie said she didn't know why, and then she said good-bye, and the visit came to an end.

​Never had the Fisher family been thrown into such consternation as when they learned of Timothy's marriage. It was Sadie, just come into the back door, who answered the early telephone call from Timothy. Timothy's voice trembled as he explained things to Sadie. It was Sadie who packed his suitcase and slipped it out of the living-room window to Timothy below. The two-seater and Constance waited around the corner. East Orange still slumbered. It was Sadie who entered each separate room of the Fishers to rouse them with the announcement: 'Mr. Timothy's done runned away. He's married!'

In bathrobe and dressing-gown the Fishers assembled together in the upper hall. But they could learn nothing else from Sadie. She had told them all she knew on the subject. Married! Timothy! The two old ladies called piteously from their respective beds to know what it was all about, the family conclave. Later in the day the Fishers discovered more of the enormity of Timothy's crime. He had run away with the Harcourts' guest. He had seduced the innocent, lovely girl. He had stolen one of the 'firm's' automobiles. He had gone away nobody knew where. He ​had utterly disgraced the family. He must be an outcast Fisher henceforth and forever.

Constance had neither father nor mother. She lived with a canny maiden aunt in New York. The news of the marriage encouraged the old lady mightily in her heart . . . a rich automobile dealer's son . . . outwardly she wailed and threatened lawsuit against Timothy Fisher.

In two days Timothy came home. Constance came too. Stormy scenes in the home of the Fishers. Constance said: 'What could I do! I had my good name to protect. Your son owed me marriage for the advantage he took of me in the automobile.' Sympathy was wholly with Constance. Lovely, sinned-against child. Timothy must stand to his bargain. Nothing in his own favor that Timothy said was believed. Poor Timothy. He was in very hot water.

Although Sadie's marriage had been as casual as Timothy's . . . on the spur of the moment . . . it was nevertheless far more satisfactory. Sadie and Peter had 'kept company' for some time. Their mating was no surprise to either of them. On the contrary, expected. Sadie asked Peter if he didn't think she ought ​to be having a baby. But Peter said: 'Not yet; I'se careful wid yer, Sadie.' Peter had to explain that more fully. Black Sadie was astonished. She had not dreamed such things could be. People in Virginia had to take things as they came. Babies.

Now Timothy's marriage was altogether different. Too hasty. Ill-considered. Most unsatisfactory. Constance proved to be a hoyden. Nobody liked her, vain, disagreeable minx. Timothy, most of all, hated her. He realized he had been her dupe. Was it Fisher prosperity she wanted, or to draw off the scent from some maidenly indiscretion? Timothy suspected the worst. He knew her capable of any trickery. But nobody had any sympathy for him. Nobody in the family believed he was anything but wholly blameworthy for the whole affair. He was in deep disgrace. Much as the family disliked Constance, they considered her badly sinned against. On no other grounds would they have been willing to take her under the roof.

Constance did not fit into any of the Fisher conventions. She and Miss Elsie Fisher had different ideals and aims in life. Constance teased Rob because that made Timothy sus​picious and jealous. She alternately petted and bossed Herb, so that Mrs. Fisher felt her influence over him undermined. But above all she exasperated and troubled Mr. Fisher. She had no awe of him. She transgressed all the principles of his bourgeois soul. He thought in his heart that soon she would be having a baby; naturally the whole affair of the marriage turned on that prospect. 'When you become a mother . . .' he began. Constance was particularly busy being objectionable. She cut him short, stubbing out her cigarette: 'Nix on a baby. I shan't have one. I know how to be careful.' Mr. Fisher went purple with rage and embarrassment. No baby? Then foolish Timothy had indeed been trapped by an adventuress. Mr. Fisher sputtered out of the room. Constance's shrill laughter pursued after him. Mocked in his own house!

Miss Rosie Fisher got on no better with the new sister-in-law than the rest of the family. But Miss Rosie Fisher was alive to the romantic glamour . . . love at first sight . . . 'comet love' . . . elopement . . . family surprise . . . anger . . . forgiveness. It was just like a novel. However, it was all in the abstract so far as Rosie was concerned, the sentimental details. ​In the concrete Rosie had two grievances. She did not like her brother's wife. She said: 'She's fast.' And she did not like her own love affair to fall to second place. The elopement of Timothy and Constance held first place in the eyes of all. Nobody had a word or a thought to give to Rosie and the paternal prohibitions that dogged her steps with Mr. Ned Temple.

Miss Rosie Fisher set her mind to renovate her own romance. Now if she could just run away with her lover, how delectable that would be! Timothy's elopement gave her that idea. She could think of nothing more ingenious to do to reinstate herself in the public attention. So Miss Rosie Fisher fell back on her clandestine love affair. Mr. Ned Temple must see how essential it was to run away to be married. But Mr. Ned Temple seemed content with matters as they stood. She tried the trick of making him jealous. Under her lover's very eyes she coyly encouraged the advances of one Lawrence Sawyer. But the patient, faithful Ned would not take fire. Instead he turned sallow and sad. The very last thing he was expected to do. Rosie felt her maneuver a failure. She was desperate.

​Miss Rosie Fisher was desperate for lack of success with romance. The spot-light that earlier in the year had played over her so flatteringly refused to return. The fickle beacon persisted in picking out Timothy and Constance. Timothy and Constance lived in the brightest of public glares. Everybody talked of their romance. Even the New York papers wrote it up . . . not, it is true, in the society columns, but amongst the murders and fires and divorces on the third or fourth page. Envy bit Miss Rosie's soul.

The Fishers belonged to the Presbyterian Church. The Presbyterian Church nursed a particular concern in the affair of the marriage. The minister called. Constance was invited into the fold. But she stunned the mild man by the offhand remark that she was a Catholic. Could anything be worse!

'But, Constance, you are not a Catholic,' remonstrated Mrs. Fisher when the crestfallen minister had gone. 'Why did you tell such a falsehood?'

Constance was quite light about it. 'No other way to get rid of the old boy.' And she laughed complacently.

Shocking! The Presbyterian Fishers, what ​had they come to! An unprincipled girl thrust into the bosom of their religion. But Constance had Lares and Penates of her own. They were mostly unclassifiable. She said, 'Beauty is my religion.' 'Then you did not live up to it when you married Timothy,' tartly commented one of Timothy's grandmothers, 'for he is the very homeliest boy ever I saw.' Constance laughed gayly. But Mrs. Fisher wept. Her motherly pride was wounded.

Miss Rosie Fisher was right; home was undoubtedly 'horwible.'

Miss Rosie Fisher redoubled her efforts to land her lover. She was genuinely eager for change and escape from the strained life and bickerings at home. She desired romantic notoriety too. But why would Mr. Ned Temple so hang fire? Why wouldn't he be definite with a time-and-place proposal of marriage? Miss Rosie Fisher flung herself into voluminous and passionate letters to Mr. Ned Temple.

Black Sadie saw Miss Rosie Fisher writing the letters. Sometimes she was given them to post. Naturally she felt a warm curiosity about the contents. She could not open them, as she might have done, because Miss Rosie Fisher sealed them all with speckled gold seal​ing-wax. Sadie felt somewhat resentful that she had not been confided in by Rosie. But Rosie felt that she had launched herself on a serious enterprise and had better keep her own counsel. She did.

But Black Sadie knew a number of dodges. One day Constance spied her deciphering the marks on a blotter held up to a mirror. As soon as she could, Constance took the same blotter to a glass. 'There, madam, is what your innocent little Rosie is getting away with right under your eyes.' Constance held the blotter before the cheval glass so that Mrs. Fisher could read the scattered sentiments thus brought to visibility. Constance sniggered with wicked pleasure. She was delighted to deflect family disapproval from herself to Rosie, though she would have preferred Elsie as a victim. Poor Mrs. Fisher, that she should be so deceived and disappointed in her children! And poor Miss Rosie Fisher, that her secret hopes and heart should thus be paraded in the light by an enemy! Certainly home was 'horwible.'

Quecene called on Sadie in East Orange. She looked so plump. Her purple cloth dress ​strained at the seams. Black braid, like Martian canals, worked out a crazy geometry on body and skirt. Quecene's bust emerged from the upstanding rim of her corset as though from a tub. The corset stuck up all the way around in a most aggressive fashion, and Quecene's fat arms dangled over the edges. She sat on one side of the kitchen table and Sadie sat on the other side.

How was the Poro business? Fine. How long did Sadie propose remaining in service to the white folks? Sadie hadn't given the matter serious thought. Had Quecene anything better to suggest? Certainly. How would Sadie fancy being in 'my establishment'? No. Sadie considered Poro a failure . . . one more swindle . . . she remembered the Yankee peddler who sold Aunt Thorry a box of oil and tar for the same purpose. Quecene pooh-poohed the argument. Old-fashioned hoax. But Poro was a new invention from Chicago, as though the name of the city guaranteed a bona-fide article, success. However, she wasn't exactly thinking of Poro. She herself could easily handle that trade. What she had in mind was her 'rooms.' She rented rooms by the night or day. She had Lucy to help her, but she needed ​another girl. Now, Sadie would be just the one. She offered her first chance. A good many 'guests' came to the rooms alone. When they brought girls with them, there was usually a fuss. Quecene didn't want the police in a respectable 'establishment,' to wit, her own. Now, if she had her own girls . . . all would go well . . . there would be rules. What about it? Would Sadie come? There was money in it. And Quecene departed, swishing her purple skirts, walking grandly.

But Sadie felt quite satisfied with things as they stood. The Fishers were not unkind. The wages were good. Sadie had been in the house two years. When she asked for forty dollars a month, she got it. Yes; she did very well with the Fishers. There were numerous private perquisites too. Why jeopardize such satisfactions for Quecene, who had already almost got her into trouble with her 'snow trade'? Most of all there was Peter. Sadie had no desire to leave Peter. Peter would never consent to her living in an 'establishment.' Sadie wouldn't even dare tell him what Quecene had offered. She 'had Lucy's number.'

In two years Sadie had learned a good deal. She had to. Everything was so different from ​what it had been in Virginia. An entirely new technic was required. Sadie was no longer a green 'cornfiel' nigger.' She now belonged to the industrialized and new colored race of the Northern cities. Sadie knew how to take care of herself. She had no intention of turning a bad corner as Ann or Lucy had done. And though Quecene lived floridly, she lived on the dark edges of life . . . the 'green wagon' or the 'black wagon' always just around the corner.

Sadie had learned much from the Fishers. Her speech was better. She knew about clothes, not only for the upper classes, but for herself as well. But more than from anybody else Sadie learned from Constance. Sadie and Constance had an affinity for one another. Constance taught her so many delightful tricks, toilette dodges, humorous slang, feminine short-cuts to personal advantages and admiration. She showed her how to do eyebrows, how to make one's eyes large and shining, how to use the little pot of pink paste. She was prodigal too in gifts, trinkets, small coins, clothes, this and that, that and this. Sadie learned to manicure Constance's hands. It was a great time for a chat.

​While Sadie worked on Constance's filbert nails, Constance kept up a steady stream of observation and remark. She abused the family; 'tightwads.' She jeered at Timothy; 'he looked like a goat' and had no spirit. As for Elsie; wasn't she a dud! The old ladies she named Scylla and Charybdis, but that had to be explained to Sadie. She thought it very amusing.

Yes; Sadie was enraptured with Constance. Her sophistication seemed the profoundest wisdom. Mrs. Fisher objected to Constance taking Sadie so much for herself. She remonstrated at the familiarity with a servant. But Constance said: 'She is the only human thing in this house.' So Mrs. Fisher had to be offended and stiffen up. But it made no particle of difference with Constance. She gave Sadie a perfectly new crêpe de chine dress just to exasperate the parsimonious soul of her mother-in-law. Effected. Mrs. Fisher groaned aloud.

Constance practiced no reserves with Sadie. She put ideas into her head too. 'You ought never to waste yourself in general service,' she said. 'You are just cut out to be a lady's maid. You just watch "Miss Constance," Sadie; I ​don't think I want to swim around in this aquarium much longer. The fish are not what I expected. Do you get that?' Constance laughed frightfully at herself. Such a clever pun! 'When "Miss Constance" is ready to leave, she'll take you too, Sadie. Would you like that? We'll go to Europe!' Sadie had a most sketchy notion as to what Europe might be, but she thought she would like it. 'What'll I go on?' pursued Constance. 'Money, of course. Alimony.' Constance took the buffer away from Sadie to give the final touches herself.

The entire Fisher household was thrown into delightful concern and confusion by a visit from Aunt Roberta. She came in a dashing two-seater driven by a young man in expensive clothes. He had red hair that badly needed cutting. And his face bore every mark of dissipation. He wore white buckskin gloves . . . in June! Aunt Roberta swept up the walk, into the house. The living-room took on a new air, borrowed luster from Aunt Roberta. She tore off a linen duster and a cap. She displayed a sumptuous draped gown and mounds and mounds of hair, snow-white. Dazzling rings ​and a wrist-watch. Mrs. Fisher quailed before the lorgnette. Aunt Roberta!

Aunt Roberta rarely came to East Orange, preferring the perimeter of her family to its bosom. 'Middle-class people depress me,' she said. Aunt Roberta lived apart from her kin in a world of her own inhabited by Bohemians . . . New York, Tuxedo, Long Branch, Jamestown. She had 'means.' She was 'in society.' But seldom would she visit the Fishers, even for a 'tea,' never for the Odd Fellows' reception. Inveigle as they would, and did, Aunt Roberta eluded always the blandishments of her family. Mrs. Fisher's elder sister.

Aunt Roberta was better known as the Countess Lasci, a title honestly though abruptly come by. Years ago Roberta Perkins spent a winter in Paris for the purpose of studying 'art.' In the Louvre she met Stanislas Lasci, also studying 'art.' He was young. She was beautiful, auburn hair and a magnificent poise. Both were lonely. What more natural than love? And love it was. But not for long. The Perkins family undertook a genuine effort to harmonize their concepts of life to include that of a Polish count. But the Lasci family made no such effort to embrace an ​American daughter-in-law. Stanislas received his orders and various arguments and inducements to come home, and Roberta was left alone with the title and alimony. She had been offered the latter, but she stipulated the retention of the former as the terms of the divorce. The title glittered, especially in America, and the alimony was ample. The divorce was complete. All were satisfied.

The Fishers were very proud of their noble kinswoman. 'My sister, the Countess Lasci . . .' 'Our rich aunt in New York . . .' Her name frequently appeared in the columns of the New York 'Times,' or 'Herald' . . . 'the Countess Lasci's salon' . . . 'the Countess Lasci has discovered a new genius in Corda Van Corda, whose picture is First Prize in the Metropolitan Exhibition' . . . and so forth, frequently. The newspaper clippings decorated the rims of the looking-glasses over the bureaus of the Fishers.

The Countess Lasci swept into the living-room and the scent of verbena and the glitter of gems metamorphosed the place. Sadie peeped through the pantry door at the glorious apparition. What made her eyes so black? Kol. And the snow-white hair, such quanti​ties of it with a jet bandeau. Jet seemed the birthmark of the Perkinses!

The Countess Lasci dispatched her business. 'No; I won't sit down. Get Maman into presentable shape. I came to see her. I can't bear it if she's sloppy, all dusted with dandruff and hair. She usually is. She was the last time I came. I had nausea for hours. Old people are revolting. . . . How are you all? . . . I am off for Saratoga to-morrow. If I was coming at all, I had to come to-day. The dear boy in the machine outside drove me over. . . . Who is he? I don't know, I'm sure. Some scion of a wealthy family, doubtless . . . they all are. His name is Chalmer, Chalmer Neale Truben. Of course that's not his real name, but it seemed more appropriate. . . . Willie Tompkins or Thompson, something of the sort . . . impossible. I couldn't stand it. But as I was saying, I am launching him. He's a marvel, something new, a cubist. . . . What? . . . No, it has nothing to do with physical culture nor gymnastics. It's the new art. Cubism. Solids instead of planes or lights. It's the inevitable in art, revolutionary. I'm most interested in him, because of his genius, you know. He will set New York on fire. . . . ​What say? . . . No, I'm sure he doesn't want to come in . . . don't ask him. . . . So your eldest son is married? Sudden, wasn't it? Love or opportunity? What's she like? Not that I am interested. Don't suppose it. One more Fisher is a calamity. I hope there will be no children.'

Mrs. Fisher undulated helplessly. She opened and shut her mouth just like a fish gasping for its life. How terrible Roberta was! She had no sensibilities, no feeling for other people. Her own family were less than strangers to her. Mrs. Fisher could hardly take in the meaning of the flow of words. Terrible!

Miss Rosie gushed into the room. Aunt Roberta put up her lorgnette. Rosie announced that 'darling grandmamma' was now quite ready to receive her guest. The affectionate little thing twined her arms around the Countess's waist. Aunt Roberta shook her off as she mounted the stairs.

In half an hour down she came again. Mrs Fisher lay in wait in the hall. Refreshments? No, she could not go without just a little cooling drink. Ginger ale. Nabiscos. Black Sadie dispensed the delicacies. Yes, very refreshing. The day was warm. Maman's ​room so stuffy with dead air. Quite nice to stick mint in the ginger ale. Take some out to the auto. Still Aunt Roberta would not sit down. She stood in the hall near the door, a glass in one hand, a nabisco in the other. The silver lorgnette dangled by a chain.

The horn on the automobile blew. The countess jumped, startled. It blew again. Again. Insistent. 'Mercy! what's the matter with him? Why should he be so impatient?' exclaimed the Countess. Off she went. 'Good-bye. Good-bye.' The horn kept up its fanfare.

Chalmer Neale Truben kept jamming the horn with one hand; with the other he crammed nabiscos into his mouth. Black Sadie stood by with supplies of ale and biscuits. As the Countess appeared, Chalmer Neale Truben jumped up from his seat. Very excited. 'Listen, lady,' he exploded. 'Look at this colored girl! Isn't she perfect! Wonderful problem! . . . All triangles and cones . . . solids . . . what a study! Africa Victrix . . . the Zambeezi . . . the Niger . . . Nubia! I must do her!'

Aunt Roberta put up her lorgnette. 'A colored girl?' she said, gazing at Sadie. 'Interesting.'

But Chalmer Neale Truben was fired. This ​polite interest did not meet his enthusiasm. He leaned far out of the car. 'Concentrate,' he expostulated. 'Look at her again.' He pointed out lines on Sadie. He indicated angles. Traced curves. Suggested solids by the motion of his hands. 'Have you ever seen anything so unique, so perfect?' he exulted. 'Could we get her to pose, do you think?'

The Countess looked more closely at Sadie. The eulogies roused her attention. She walked all around her, looking her up and down. Sadie held her ground impassively. What was it all about? The young sport was spilling his ginger ale. Was he crazy or something to be scattering her with the crumbs of a nabisco crushed in his hand? And what was the matter with the lady! Sadie wondered if her dress was open behind. She looked unperturbed, but she felt a little uneasy just the same.

The Countess came back to the door of the car. 'Hmm,' she said. 'Hardly my idea of Africa. No fulsomeness. No suggestive fecundity. Dry, almost sterile. Briar rather than a fruitful bough. The skull is unusual.'

'You are wrong,' interrupted Chalmer Neale Truben (Willie Tompkins). 'You are expecting something gross, something physical, un​concealed. As a matter of fact I see just the opposite . . . mystery, secrecy, some intense vitality, some subtle enigma. It's mind, not body, that she represents. What a skull! You did notice that. It's the focus of the geometry, the pivot of the study. Don't you agree? We must get her to do. We'll surprise the world. We'll smash every moss-grown convention.'

The Countess Lasci got into her seat. 'Sit down,' she said to the exuberant artist. 'I believe you are right. We'll try. But it must be a secret. I am glad not to be disappointed in you. I felt sure you would reward me with something new . . . out of the ordinary . . . some acute intelligence of perception. The gods have spilt a treasure in your lap.'

The Countess Lasci turned to Sadie. 'My friend and I wish to make some drawings of you. It will take some time. In the autumn I shall send for you to pose in my studio. Will you come? You will receive six dollars a day. You will have to give up this job. Give your mistress notice for September. Good-bye.'

The two-seater sped away.

Six dollars a day! Nearly a hundred dollars a month! Would Sadie take it? For posing? For just sitting still to be drawn! Would she! ​Sadie returned to her kitchen. Six dollars a day!

The first of September Sadie gave the Fishers notice.

She told Peter she had a new job. To work for a lady in New York for six dollars a day. Peter said: 'Bully! Six dollars a day!'

Wealth! Six dollars a day!