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something gentle and Jewish； the knowledge of one who
belongs to a race that is oppressed。 On one occasion he took
Mr。 Singer with him on his rounds。 He led him through cold
and narrow passages smelling of dirt and sickness and fried
fatback。 He showed him a successful skin graft made on the
face of a woman patient who had been severely burned。 He
treated a syphilitic child and pointed
115
out to Mr。 Singer the scaling eruption on the palms of the
hand； the dull； opaque surface of the eye； the sloping upper
front incisors。 They visited two…room shacks that housed as
many as twelve or fourteen persons。 In a room where the fire
burned low and orange on the hearth they were helpless while
an old man strangled with pneumonia。 Mr。 Singer walked
behind him and watched and understood。 He gave nickels to
the children； and because of his quietness and decorum he did
not disturb the patients as would have another visitor。
The days were chilly and treacherous。 In the town there was
an outbreak of influenza so that Dr。 Copeland was busy most
of the hours of the day and night。 He drove through the Negro
sections of the town in the high Dodge automobile he had
used for the past nine years。 He kept the isinglass curtains
snapped to the windows to cut off the draughts； and tight
around his neck he wore his gray wool shawl。 During this time
he did not see Portia or William or Highboy； but often he
thought of them。 Once when he was away Portia came to see
him and left a note and borrowed half a sack of meal。
There came a night when he was so exhausted that； although
there were other calls to make； he drank hot milk and went to
bed。 He was cold and feverish so that at first he could not rest。
Then it seemed that he had only begun to sleep when a voice
called him。 He got up wearily and； still in his long flannel
nightshirt； he opened the front door。 It was Portia。
〃The Lord Jesus help us； Father；' she said。 Doctor Copeland
stood shivering with his nightshirt drawn close around his
waist。 He held his hand to his throat and looked at her and
waited。
'It about our Willie。 He been a bad boy and done got hisself in
mighty bad trouble。 And us got to do something。' Doctor
Copeland walked from the hall with rigid steps。 He stopped in
the bedroom for his bathrobe； shawl； and slippers and went
back to the kitchen。 Portia was waiting for him there。 The
kitchen was lifeless and cold。 'All right。 What has he done？
What is it？' 'Just wait a minute。 Just let me find brain room so
I can study it all out and tell it to you plain。
'
He crushed some sheets of newspaper lying on the116
hearth and picked up a few sticks of kindling。
'Let me make the fire；' Portia said。 'You just sit down at the
table； and soon as this here stove is hot us going to have a cup
of coffee。 Then maybe it all won't seem so bad。
'
〃There is not any coffee。 I used the last of it yesterday。' 》
When he said this Portia began to cry。 Savagely she stuffed
paper and wood into the stove and lighted it with a trembling
hand。 〃This here the way it is；' she said。 'Willie and Highboy
were messing around tonight at a place where they got no
business being。 You know how I feels like I always got to
keep my Willie and my Highboy close to me？ Well； if I'd been
there none of this trouble would of come about。 But I were at
the Ladies' Meeting at the church and them boys got restless。
They went down to Madame Reba's Palace of Sweet Pleasure。
And Father； this is sure one bad； wicked place。 They got a
man sells tickets on the bug— but they also got these strutting；
bad…blood； tail…shaking nigger gals and these here red satin
curtains and'
'Daughter；' said Doctor Copeland irritably。 He pressed his
hands to the side of bis head。 'I know the place。 Get to the
point。'
'Love Jones were there—and she is one bad colored gal。
Willie he drunk liquor and shimmied around with her until
first thing you know he were in a fight。 He were in a fight with
this boy named Junebug—over Love。 And for a while they
fights there with their hands and then this Junebug got out his
knife。 Our Willie didn't have no knife； so he commenced to
bellow and run around the parlor。 Then finally Highboy found
Willie a razor and he backed up and nearbout cut this
Junebug's head off。'
Doctor Copeland drew his shawl closer around him。 'Is he
dead？'
〃That boy too mean to die。 He in the hospital； but he going to
be out and making trouble again before long。'
'And William？'
'The police come in and taken him to the jail in the Black
Maria。 He still locked up。'
'And he did not get hurt？'
'Oh； he got a busted eye and a little chunk cut out his behind。
But it won't bother him none。 What I can't understand is how
come he would be messing around with that Love。 She at least
ten shades blacker than I is and she
117
the ugliest nigger I ever seen。 She walk like she have a egg
between her legs and don't want to break it。 She ain't even
clean。 And here Willie done cut the buck like this over her。'
Doctor Copeland leaned closer to the stove and groaned。 He
coughed and his face stiffened。 He held his paper
handkerchief to his mouth and it became spotted with blood。
The dark skin of his face took on a greenish pallor。
'Course Highboy come and tell me soon as it all happened。
Understand； my Highboy didn't have nothing to do with these
here bad gals。 He were just keeping Willie company。 He so
grieved about Willie he been sitting out on the street curb in
front of the jail ever since。' The fire…colored tears rolled down
Portia's face。 'You know how us three has always been。 Us
haves our own plan and nothing ever went wrong with it
before。 Even money hasn't bothered us none。 Highboy he pay
the rent and I buys the food…—and Willie he takes care of
Saturday Night。 Us has always been like three…piece twinses。'
At last it was morning。 The mill whistles blew for the first
shift。 The sun came out and brightened the clean saucepans
hanging on the wall above the stove。 They sat for a long time。
Portia pulled at the rings on her ears until her lobes were
irritated and purplish red。 Doctor Copeland still held his head
in his hands。
'Seem to me；' Portia said finally； 'if us can just get a lot of
white peoples to write letters about Willie it might help out
some。 I already been to see Mr。 Brannon。 He written exactly
what I told him to。 He were at his cafe after it all happened
like he is ever night。 So I just went in there and explained how
it was。 I taken the letter home with me。 I done put it in the
Bible so I won't lose it or dirty it'
'What did the letter say？'
'Mr。 Brannon he wrote just hike I asked him to。 The letter tell
about how Willie has been working for Mr。 Brannon going on
three year。 It tell how Willie is one fine upstanding colored
boy and how he hasn't ever been in no trouble before now。 It
tell how he always had plenty chances to take things in the
cafe if he were like some other type of colored boy and
how'
'Pshaw！' said Doctor Copeland。 'All that is no good。'
'Us just can't sit around and wait。 With Willie locked up in the
jail。 My Willie； who is such a sweet boy even if he118
did do wrong tonight。 Us just can't sit around and wait'
'We will have to。 That is the only thing we can do。'
'Well； I know I ain't'
Portia got up from the chair。 Her eyes roved distractedly
around the room as though searching for something。 Then
abruptly she went toward the front door。
'Wait a minute；' said Doctor Copeland。 'Where do you intend
to go now？'
'I got to work。 I sure got to keep my job。 I sure have to stay on
with Mrs。 Kelly and get my pay ever week。'
'I want to go to the jail；' said Doctor Copeland。 'Maybe I can
see William。'
'I going to drop by the jail on my way to work。 I got to send
Highboy off to his work； too—else he liable to sit there
grieving about Willie all the morning。'
Doctor Copeland dressed hurriedly and joined Portia in the
hall。 They went out into the cool； blue autumn morning。 The
men at the jail were rude to them and they were able to find
out very little。 Doctor Copeland then went to consult a lawyer
with whom he had had dealings before。 The following days
were long and full of worried thoughts。 At the end of three
weeks the trial for William was held and he was convicted of
assault with a deadly weapon。 He was sentenced to nine
months of hard labor and sent immediately to a prison in the
northern part of the state。
Even now the strong true purpose was always in him； but he
had no time in which to think on it He went from one house to
another and the work was unending。 Very early in the morning
he drove off in the automobile； and then at eleven o'clock the
patients came to the office。 After the sharp autumn air outside
there would be a hot； stale odor in the house that made him
cough。 The benches in the hall were always full of sick and
patient Negroes who waited for him； and sometimes even the
front porch and his bedroom would be crowded。 All the day
and frequently half the night there was work。 Because of the
tiredness in him he wanted sometimes