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rhythm also。 Quietly the words came alive and fitted to the
meaning and he understood。
'When will they send him home？'
Portia leaned her drooping head on her arm。 'Buster don't
know that。 Soon afterward they separate all three of them in
different places。 They sent Buster to another camp。 Since
Willie only haves a few more months he think he liable to be
home soon now。'
They drank coffee and sat for a long time； looking into each
other's eyes。 His cup rattled against his teeth。 She poured her
coffee into a saucer and some of it dripped down on her lap。
'William' Doctor Copeland said。 As he pronounced
the name his teeth bit deeply into his tongue and he moved his
jaw with pain。 They sat for a long while。 Portia held his hand。
The bleak morning light made the windows gray。 Outside it
was still raining。
'If I means to get to work I better go on now；' Portia said。
He followed her through the hall and stopped at the hat…rack
to put on his coat and shawl。 The open door let in a
219
gust of wet； cold air。 Highboy sat out on the street curb with a
wet newspaper over his head for protection。 Along the
sidewalk there was a fence。 Portia leaned against this as she
walked。 Doctor Copeland followed a few paces after her and
his hands； also； touched the boards of the fence to steady
himself。 Highboy trailed behind them。
He waited for the black； terrible anger as though for some
beast out of the night。 But it did not come to him。 His bowels
seemed weighted with lead； and he walked slowly and
lingered against fences and the cold； wet walls of buildings by
the way。 Descent into the depths until at last there was no
further chasm below。 He touched the solid bottom of despair
and there took ease。
In this he knew a certain strong and holy gladness。 The
persecuted laugh； and the black slave sings to his outraged
soul beneath the whip。 A song was in him now—although it
was not music but only the feeling of a song。 And the sodden
heaviness of peace weighted down his limbs so that it was
only with the strong； true purpose that he moved。 Why did he
go onward？ Why did he not rest here upon the bottom of
utmost humiliation and for a while take his content？
But he went onward。
。Uncle；' said Mick。 'You think some hot coffee would make
you feel better？'
Doctor Copeland looked into her face but gave no sign that he
heard。 They had crossed the town and come at last to the alley
behind the Kellys' house。 Portia had entered first and then he
followed。 Highboy remained on the steps outside。 Mick and
her two little brothers were already in the kitchen。 Portia told
of William。 Doctor Copeland did not listen to the words but
her voice had a rhythm—a start； a middle； and an end。 Then
when she was finished she began all over。 Others came into
the room to hear。
Doctor Copeland sat on a stool in the corner。 His coat and
shawl steamed over the back of a chair by the stove。 He held
his hat on his knees and his long； dark hands moved nervously
around the worn brim。 The yellow insides of his hands were
so moist that occesionally he wiped them with a handkerchief。
His head trembled； and all of his muscles were stiff with the
effort to make it be still。220
Mr。 Singer came into the room。 Doctor Copeland raised up his
face to him。 'Have you heard of this？' he asked。 Mr。 Singer
nodded。 In his eyes there was no horror or pity or hate。 Of all
those who knew； his eyes alone did not express these
reactions。 For he alone understood this thing。
Mick whispered to Portia； 〃What's your father's name？
'
'He named Benedict Mady Copeland。
'
Mick leaned over close to Doctor Copeland and shouted in his
face as though he were deaf。 'Benedict； don't you think some
hot coffee would make you feel a little better？
'
Doctor Copeland started。
'Quit that hollering；' Portia said。 'He can hear well as you can。
'
'Oh；' said Mick。 She emptied the grounds from the pot and put
the coffee on the stove to boil again。
The mute still lingered in the doorway。 Doctor Copeland still
looked into his face。 'You heard？
'
'What'll they do to those prison guards？' Mick asked。
'Honey； I just don't know；' Portia said。 'I just don't know。
'
'I'd do something。 Fd sure do something about it。
'
'Nothing us could do would make no difference。 Best thing us
can do is keep our mouth shut'
〃They ought to be treated just like they did Willie and them。
Worse。 I wish I could round up some people and kill those
men myself。
'
〃That ain't no Christian way to talk；' Portia said。 1Js can just
rest back and know they going to be chopped up with
pitchforks and fried everlasting by Satan。
'
'Anyway Willie can still play his harp。
'
'With both feets sawed off that about all he can do。
'
The house was full of noise and unrest。 In the room above the
kitchen someone was moving furniture about。 The dining…
room was crowded with boarders。 Mrs。 Kelly hurried back and
forth from the breakfast table to the kitchen。 Mr。 Kelly
wandered about in a baggy pair of trousers and a bathrobe。
The young Kelly children ate greedily in the kitchen。 Doors
banged and voices could be heard in all parts of the house。
Mick handed Doctor Copeland a cup of coffee mixed with
watery milk。 The milk gave the drink a gray…blue sheen。 Some
of the coffee had sloshed over into the saucer；
so first he dried the saucer and the rim of the cup with his
handkerchief。 He had not wanted coffee at all。
'I wish I could kill them；' Mick said。
The house quieted。 The people in the dining…room went out to
work。 Mick and George left for school and the baby was shut
into one of the front rooms。 Mrs。 Kelly wrapped a towel
around her head and took a broom with her upstairs。
The mute still stood in the doorway。 Doctor Copeland gazed
up into his face。 'You know of this？' he asked again。 The
words did not sound—they choked in his throat—but his eyes
asked the question all the same。 Then the mute was gone。
Doctor Copeland and Portia were alone。 He sat for some time
on the stool in the corner。 At last he rose to go。
*You sit back down； Father。 Us going to stay together this
morning。 I going to fry some fish and have egg…bread and
potatoes for the dinner。 You stay on here； and then I means to
serve you a good hot meal。'
'You know I have calls。'
'Less us just this one day。 Please； Father。 I feels like I going to
really bust loose。 Besides； I don't want you messing around in
the streets by yourself。'
He hesitated and felt the collar of his overcoat。 It was very
damp。 'Daughter； I am sorry。 You know I have visits。'
Portia held his shawl over the stove until the wool was hot。
She buttoned his coat and turned up the collar about his neck。
He cleared his throat and spat into one of the squares of paper
that he carried with him in his pocket Then he burned the
paper in the stove。 On the way out he stopped and spoke to
Highboy on the steps。 He suggested that Highboy stay with
Portia if he could arrange to get leave from work。
The air was piercing and cold。 From the low； dark skies the
drizzling rain fell steadily。 The rain had seeped into the
garbage cans and in the alley there was the rank odor of wet
refuse。 As he walked he balanced himself with the help of a
fence and kept his dark eyes on the ground。
He made all the strictly necessary visits。 Then he attended to
office patients from noon until two o'clock。 Afterward he sat
at his desk with his fists clenched tight。 But it was useless to
try to cogitate on this thing。222
He wished never again to see a human face。 Yet at the same
time he could not sit alone in the empty room。 He put on his
overcoat and went out again into the wet； cold street。 In his
pocket were several prescriptions to be left at the pharmacy。
But he did not wish to speak with Marshall Nicolls。 He went
into the store and laid the prescriptions upon the counter。 The
pharmacist turned from the powders he was measuring and
held out both his hands。 His thick lips worked soundlessly for
a moment before he gained his poise。
'Doctor；' he said formally。 〃You must be aware that I and all
our colleagues and the members of my lodge and church—we
have your sorrow uppermost in our minds and wish to extend
to you our deepest sympathy。'
Doctor Copeland turned shortly and left without a word。 That
was too little。 Something more was needed。 The strong； true
purpose； the will to justice。 He walked stiffly； his arms held
close to his sides； toward the main street。 He cogitated without
success。 He could think of no white person of power in all the
town who was both brave and just。 He thought of every
lawyer； every judge； every public official with whose name he
was familiar—but the thought of each one of these white men
was bitter in his heart。 At last he decided on the judge of the
Superior Court。 When he reached the courthouse he did not
hesitate but entered quickly； determined to see the judge that
afternoon。
The wide front hall was empty except for a few idlers who
lounged in the doorways leading to the offices on either side。
He did not know where he could find the judge's office；