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had said were stories。 He finally knew what she was saying
but he wouldn't hush。 It looked like nothing could stop that
screaming。
'I hate everybody！ I hate everybody！'
They all just stood around。 Mister Brannon rubbed his nose
and looked down at the floor。 Then finally he went out very
quietly。 Mister Singer was the only one who seemed to know
what it was all about。 Maybe this was because he didn't hear
that awful noise。 His face was still calm； and whenever
Bubber looked at him he seemed to get quieter。 Mister Singer
was different from any other man； and at times like this it
would be better if other people would let him manage。 He had
more sense and he knew things that ordinary people couldn't
know。 He just looked at Bubber； and after a while the kid
quieted down enough so that their Dad could get him to bed。
In the bed he lay on his face and cried。 He cried with long； big
sobs that made him tremble all over。 He cried for an hour and
nobody in the three rooms could sleep。 Bill moved to the
living…room sofa and Mick got into bed with Bubber。 He
wouldn't let her touch him or snug up to him。 Then after
another hour of crying and hiccoughing he went to sleep。
She was awake a long time。 In the dark she put her arms
around him and held him very close。 She touched him all over
and kissed him everywhere。 He was so soft and little and there
was this salty； boy smell about him。 The love she felt was so
hard that she had to squeeze him to her until her arms were
tired。 In her mind she thought about Bubber and music
together。 It was like she could never do anything good enough
for him。 She would never hit him or even tease him again。 She
slept all night with her arms around his head。 Then in the
morning when she woke up he was gone。 But after that night
there was not much of a chance for
her to tease him any more—her or anybody else。 After he shot
Baby the kid was not ever like little Bubber again。 He always
kept his mouth shut and he didn't fool around with anybody。
Most of the time he just sat in the back yard or in the coal
house by himself。 It got closer and closer toward Christmas
time。 She really wanted a piano； but naturally she didn't say
anything about that。 She told everybody she wanted a Micky
Mouse watch。 When they asked Bubber what he wanted from
Santa Claus he said he didn't want anything。 He hid his
marbles and jack…knife and wouldn't let anyone touch his story
books。
After that night nobody called him Bubber any more。 The big
kids in the neighborhood started calling him Baby…Killer
Kelly。 But he didn't speak much to any person and nothing
seemed to bother him。 The family called him by his real name
—George。 At first Mick couldn't stop calling him Bubber and
she didn't want to stop。 But it was funny how after about a
week she just naturally called him George like the others did。
But he was a different kid— George—going around by
himself always like a person much older and with nobody； not
even her； knowing what was really in his mind。
She slept with him on Christmas Eve night。 He lay in the dark
without talking。 'Quit acting so peculiar；' she said to him。 'Less
talk about the wise men and the way the children in Holland
put out their wooden shoes instead of hanging up their
stockings。'
George wouldn't answer。 He went to sleep。
She got up at four o'clock in the morning and waked
everybody in the family。 Their Dad built a fire in the front
room and then let them go into the Christmas tree and see
what they got。 George had an Indian suit and Ralph a rubber
doll。 The rest of the family just got clothes。 She looked all
through her stocking for the Mickey Mouse watch but it
wasn't there。 Her presents were a pair of brown Oxford shoes
and a box of cherry candy。 While it was still dark she and
George went out on the sidewalk and cracked nigger…toes and
shot firecrackers and ate up the whole two…layer box of cherry
candy。 And by the time it was daylight they were sick to the
stomach and tired out。 She lay down on die sofa。 She shut her
eyes and went into the inside room。154
EIGHT o'clock Doctor Copeland sat at his desk； studying a
sheaf of papers by the bleak morning light from the window。
Beside him the tree； a thick…fringed cedar； rose up dark and
green to the ceiling。 Since the first year he began to practice
he had given an annual party on Christmas Day； and now all
was in readiness。 Rows of benches and chairs lined the walls
of the front rooms。 Throughout the house there was the sweet
spiced odor of newly baked cake and steaming coffee。 In the
office with him Portia sat on a bench against the wall； her
hands cupped beneath her chin； her body bent almost double。
'Father； you been scrouched over the desk since five o'clock。
You got no business to be up。 You ought to stayed in bed until
time for the to…do。'
Doctor Copeland moistened his thick lips with his tongue。 So
much was on his mind that he had no attention to give to
Portia。 Her presence fretted him。
At last he turned to her irritably。 'Why do you sit there
moping？'
'I just got worries；' she said。 'For one thing； I worried about our
Willie。'
'William？'
'You see he been writing me regular ever Sunday。 The letter
will get here on Monday or Tuesday。 But last week he didn't
write。 Course I not really anxious。 Willie—he always so good…
natured and sweet I know he going to be all right。 He been
transferred from the prison to the chain gang and they going to
work up somewhere north of Atlanta。 Two weeks ago he
wrote this here letter to say they going to attend a church
service today； and he done asked me to send him his suit of
clothes and his red tie。'
。Is that all William said？'
'He written that this Mr。 B。 F。 Mason is at the prison； too。 And
that he run into Buster Johnson—he a boy Willie used to
know。 And also he done asked me to please send him his harp
because he can't be happy without he got his harp to play on。 I
done sent everthing。 Also a checker set and a white…iced cake。
But I sure hope I hears from him in the next few days。'
155
Doctor Copeland's eyes glowed with fever and he could not
rest his hands。 'Daughter； we shall have to discuss this later。 It
is getting late and I must finish here。 You go back to the
kitchen and see that all is ready。'
Portia stood up and tried to make her face bright and happy。
'What you done decided about that five…dollar prize？'
'As yet I have been unable to decide just what is the wisest
course；' he said carefully。
A certain friend of his； a Negro pharmacist； gave an award of
five dollars every year to the high…school student who wrote
the best essay on a given subject。 The pharmacist always made
Doctor Copeland sole judge of the papers and the winner was
announced at the Christmas party。 The subject of the
composition this year was 'My Ambition： How I Can Better
the Position of the Negro Race in Society。' There was only one
essay worthy of real consideration。 Yet this paper was so
childish and ill…advised that it would hardly be prudent to
confer upon it the award。 Doctor Copeland put on his glasses
and re…read the essay with deep concentration。
This is my ambition。 First I wish to attend Tuskegee College
but I do not wish to be a man like Booker Washington or
Doctor Carver。 Then when I deem that my education is
complete I wish to start off being a fine lawyer like the one
who defended the Scottsboro Boys。 I would only take cases
for colored people against white people。 Every day our people
are made in every way and by every means to feel that they
are inferior。 This is not so。 We are a Rising Race。 And we
cannot sweat beneath the white man's burdens for long。 We
cannot always sow where others reap。
I want to be like Moses； who led the children of Israel from
the land of the oppressors。 I want to get up a Secret
Organization of Colored Leaders and Scholars。 All colored
people will organize under the direction of these picked
leaders and prepare for revolt。 Other nations in the world who
are interested in the plight of our race and who would like to
see the United States divided would come to our aid。 All
colored people will organize and there will be a revolution；
and at the close colored156
people will take up all the territory east of the Mississippi and
south of the Potomac。 I shall set up a mighty country under the
control of the Organization of Colored Leaders and Scholars。
No white person will be allowed a passport—and if they get
into the country they will have no legal rights。
I hate the whole white race and will work always so that the
colored race can achieve revenge for all their sufferings。 That
is my ambition。
Doctor Copeland felt the fever warm in his veins。 The ticking
of the clock on his desk was loud and the sound jarred his
nerves。 How could he give the award to a boy with such wild
notions as this？ What should he decide？
The other essays were without any firm content at all。 The
young people would not think。 They wrote only about their
ambitions and omitted the last part of the tid