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your crackpot do…nothing theories can'
'Hush！ Who cares whether you and your thousand Negroes
straggle up to that stinking cesspool of a place called
Washington？ What difference does it make？ What do a few
people matter—a few thousand people； black； white； good or
bad？ When the whole of our society is built on a foundation of
black lies。'
'Everything！' Doctor Copeland panted。 'Everything！
Everything！
'Nothing！'
〃The soul of the meanest and most evil of us on this earth is
worth more in the sight of justice than'
'Oh； the Hell with it！' Jake said。 'Balls！'
'Blasphemer！' screamed Doctor Copeland。 'Foul blasphemer！'
Jake shook the iron bars of the bed。 The vein in his forehead
swelled to the point of bursting and his face was dark with
rage。 'Short…sighted bigot！'262
'White' Doctor Copeland's voice failed him。 He
struggled and no sound would come。 At last he was able to
bring forth a choked whisper： 'Fiend。'
The bright yellow morning was at the window。 Doctor
Copeland's head fell back on the pillow。 His neck twisted at a
broken angle； a fleck of bloody foam on his lips。 Jake looked
at him once before； sobbing with violence； he rushed headlong
from the room。
14
N《
ow she could not stay in the inside room。 She had to be around
somebody all the time。 Doing something every minute。 And if
she was by herself she counted or figured with numbers。 She
counted all the roses on the living…room wall…paper。 She
figured out the cubic area of the whole house。 She counted
every blade of grass in the back yard and every leaf on a
certain bush。 Because if she did not have her mind on numbers
this terrible afraidness came in her。 She would be walking
home from school on these May afternoons and suddenly she
would have to think of something quick。 A good thing—very
good。 Maybe she would think about a phrase of hurrying jazz
music。 Or that a bowl of jello would be in the refrigerator
when she got home。 Or plan to smoke a cigarette behind the
coal house。 Maybe she would try to think a long way ahead to
the time when she would go north and see snow； or even
travel somewhere in a foreign land。 But these thoughts about
good things wouldn't last。 The jello was gone in five minutes
and the cigarette smoked。 Then what was there after that？ And
the numbers mixed themselves up in her brain。 And the snow
and the foreign land were a long； long time away。 Then what
was there？
Just Mister Singer。 She wanted to follow him everywhere。 In
the morning she would watch him go down the front steps to
work and then follow along a half a block behind him。 Every
afternoon as soon as school was over she hung around at the
corner near the store where he worked。 At four o'clock he
went out to drink a Coca…Cola。 She watched him cross the
street and go into the drugstore and finally come out again。
She followed him home from
263
work and sometimes even when he took walks。 She always
followed a long way behind him。 And he did not know。
She would go up to see him in his room。 First she scrubbed
her face and hands and put some vanilla on the front of her
dress。 She only went to visit him twice a week now； because
she didn't want him to get tired of her。 Most always he would
be sitting over the queer； pretty chess game when she opened
the door。 And then she was with him。
'Mister Singer； have you ever lived in a place where it snowed
in the winter…time？'
He tilted his chair back against the wall and nodded。
'In some different country than this one—in a foreign place？'
He nodded yes again and wrote on his pad with his silver
pencil。 Once he had traveled to Ontario； Canada—across the
river from Detroit Canada was so far up north that the white
snow drifted up to the roofs of the houses。 That was where the
Quints were and the St。 Lawrence River。 The people ran up
and down the streets speaking French to each other。 And far
up in the north there were deep forests and white ice igloos。
The arctic region with the beautiful northern lights。
〃When you was in Canada did you go out and get any fresh
snow and eat it with cream and sugar？ Once I read where it
was mighty good to eat that way。'
He turned his head to one side because he didn't understand。
She couldn't ask the question again because suddenly it
sounded silly。 She only looked at him and waited。 A big； black
shadow of his head was on the wall behind him。 The electric
fan cooled the thick； hot air。 All was quiet。 It was like they
waited to tell each other things that had never been told
before。 What she had to say was terrible and afraid。 But what
he would tell her was so true that it would make everything all
right。 Maybe it was a thing that could not be spoken with
words or writing。 Maybe he would have to let her understand
this in a different way。 That was the feeling she had with him。
'I was just asking you about Canada—but it didn't amount to
anything； Mister Singer。'
Downstairs in the home rooms there was plenty of trouble。
Etta was still so sick that she couldn't sleep264
crowded three in a bed。 The shades were drawn and the dark
room smelled bad with a sick smell。 Etta's job was gone； and
that meant eight dollars less a week besides the doctor's bill。
Then one day when Ralph was walking around in the kitchen
he burned himself on the hot kitchen stove。 The bandages
made his hands itch and somebody had to watch him all the
time else he would bust the blisters。 On George's birthday they
had bought him a little red bike with a bell and a basket on the
handlebars。 Everybody had chipped in to give it to him。 But
when Etta lost her job they couldn't pay； and after two
installments were past due the store sent a man out to take the
wheel away。 George just watched the man roll the bike off the
porch； and when he passed George kicked the back fender and
then went into the coal house and shut the door。
It was money； money； money all the time。 They owed to the
grocery and they owed the last payment on some furniture。
And now since they had lost the house they owed money there
too。 The six rooms in the house were always taken； but
nobody ever paid the rent on time。
For a while their Dad went over every day to hunt another job。
He couldn't do carpenter work any more because it made him
jittery to be more than ten feet off the ground。 He applied for
many jobs but nobody would hire him。 Then at last he got this
notion。
'It's advertising； Mick；' he said。 Tve come to the conclusion
that's all in the world the matter with my watch…repairing
business right now。 I got to sell myself。 I got to get out and let
people know I can fix watches； and fix them good and cheap。
You just mark my words。 Fm going to build up this business
so I'll be able to make a good living for this family the rest of
my life。 Just by advertising。'
He brought home a dozen sheets of tin and some red paint。 For
the next week he was very busy。 It seemed to him like this was
a hell of a good idea。 The signs were all over the floor of the
front room。 He got down on his hands and knees and took
great care over the printing of each letter。 As he worked he
whistled and wagged his head。 He hadn't been so cheerful and
glad in months。 Every now and then he would have to dress in
his good suit and go around the corner for a glass of beer to
calm himself。 On the signs at first he had：
265
Wilbur Kelly
Watch Repairing
Very Cheap and Expert
*Mick； I want them to hit you right bang in the eye。 To stand
out wherever you see them。'
She helped him and he gave her three nickels。 The signs were
O。K。 at first。 Then he worked on them so much that they were
ruined。 He wanted to add more and more things —in the
corners and at the top and bottom。 Before he had finished the
signs were plastered all over with 'Very Cheap' and 'Come At
Once' and 'You Give Me Any Watch And I Make It Run。'
'You tried to write so much in the signs that nobody will read
anything；' she told him。
He brought home some more tin and left the designing up to
her。 She painted them very plain； with great big block letters
and a picture of a clock。 Soon he had a whole stack of them。 A
fellow he knew rode him out in the country where he could
nail them to trees and fenceposts。 At both ends of the block he
put up a sign with a black hand pointing toward the house。
And over the front door there was another sign。
The day after this advertising was finished he waited in the
front room dressed in a clean shirt and a tie。 Nothing
happened。 The jeweler who gave him overflow work to do at
half price sent in a couple of clocks。 That was all。 He took it
hard。 He didn't go out to look for other jobs any more； but
every minute he had to be busy around the house。 He took
down the doors and oiled the hinges— whether they needed it
or not。 He mixed the margarine for Portia and scrubbed the
floors upstairs。 He worked out a contraption where the water
from the ice box could be drained through the kitchen
window。 He carved some beautiful alphabet blocks for Ralph
and invented a little needle…threa