Four o'clock found the plotter entering the parlor of what once had been the establishment of T. Marshall, undertaker, now the Elite Colored Funeral Home, Marshall & Kivil, proprietors. These transformations had dated from the time Percy C. Kivil (Tuskegee '18) entered the firm. Here was no plain undertaker. Here was an expert and a graduate mortician, with diploma to prove it; also one gifted of the pen. Two inscriptions done in flowing type hung on the wall. One of these inscriptions read:

Oh, Death, where is thy sting When we officiates?

Embalming done attentively At standard pre-war rates.

And the other:

Blest be the tie that binds!

Tho death thy form may shake.

Call in a brother of thy race And let him undertake!

At a desk between these two decorative objects and half shadowed by the bright-green fronds of a large artificial palm, sat aesop Loving, son-in-law of the senior partner. From his parent-by-marriage aesop had borrowed desk-room for the carrying on of the mult.i.tudinous business relating to the general management of one of the celebrations projected in honor, and on account of, the Eighth of August. He might appear to be absorbed in important details, as he now did. But inside of him he was not happy and Jeff knew the reasons; the reasons were common rumor.

This year there was to be more than one celebration; there were to be two; and the opposition, organizing secretly and stealing a march on that usually wide-awake person, aesop, had rented Belt Line Park, thus forcing aesop's crowd to make a poor second choice of the old show-grounds, a treeless common away out near the end of Tennessee Street. On top of this and in an unexpected quarter, even more formidable compet.i.tion was foreshadowed. A scant eighth of a mile distant from the show-lot and on the same thoroughfare stood the Twelfth Ward tabernacle, and here services would be held both afternoon and evening of the Eighth. The Rev. Wickliffe had so announced, and the Rev.

Shine had backed him in the decision.

It was inevitable, with this surpa.s.sing magnet of popular interest so near at hand, that for every truant convert who might halt to taste of the pleasures provided by aesop Loving and his a.s.sociate promoters, half a dozen possible patrons would pa.s.s on by and beyond, drawn away by the compelling power of the Sin Killer's eloquence. Representations had been made to the revivalist that, with propriety, he might suspend his ministry for the great day. His answer was the declaration that on the Eighth he would preach not merely once, but twice.

By him and his there would be no temporizing with the powers of evil, however insidiously cloaked. Would not dancing be included in the entertainments planned by these self-seeking laymen who now approached him? Would not there be idle sports and vain pastimes calculated to entice the hearts of the populace away from consideration of the welfare of their own souls? Admittedly there would be drinking of soft drinks.

And into the advertised softness some hardness a.s.suredly would slip. You could not fool the Sin Killer. Having taken a firm stand, his rect.i.tude presently moved him to further steps. On his behalf it was stated that he, personally, would lead the elect in triumphant procession out Tennessee Street to the tabernacle between the afternoon preaching and the evening. As an army with banners, the saved, the sober, and the seeking would march past, thus attesting their fealty to the cause which moved them. He defied all earthly forces to lure a single one from the ranks.

And, after the preaching, under his auspices, there would be a mighty cutting of watermelons for those deemed to be qualified to partic.i.p.ate therein. By the strict tenets of the Rev. Wickliffe's theology it seemed that watermelons were almost the only luscious things of this carnal world not held to be potentially or openly sinful. Small wonder then that Jeff, jauntily entering the Elite Funeral Home, read traces of an ill-concealed distress writ plain upon the face of aesop Loving.

"Well, Brother Lovin', you sh.o.r.e does look lak you'd hung yore harp 'pon the willer-tree an' wuz fixin' to tek in sorrow fur a livin'," he said in greeting. "Cheer yo'se'f up; 'tain't nothin' so worse but whut it mout be worser."

"Easy fur you to say so, Brother Poindexter; harder fur me to do so,"

stated aesop. "Gallivantin' 'round the way you is, you ain't got no idea of the aggervations w'ich keeps comin' up in connection wid an occasion sech ez this one, an' mo' 'specially the aggervations w'ich pussonally afflicts the director-general of the same, w'ich I is him."

"I been hearin' somethings myse'f," said Jeff. "Word is come to me, fur one thing, that this yere smart-ellicky gang out at the Belt Line Park is aimin' to try to cut some of the groun' frum under yore feet. I regrets to hear it."

"'Tain't them so much," said aesop. "We couldn't 'spect to go 'long havin' a nomopoly furever. Sooner or late they wuz bound to be opposition arisin' up. 'Tain't them so much, although I will say it wuz a low-flung trick to tek an' rent that park right out frum under our noses 'thout givin' us no warnin' so's we mout go an' rent it fu'st. No, hit's the action of that Emmanuel Chapel bunch w'ich gives me the mos'

deepest concern. Seems lak ev'ry time that Rev'n' Sin Killer open his mouth I kin feel cold cash crawlin' right out of my pocket. Mind you, Brother Poindexter, I ain't got a word to say ag'in religion. I's strong fur it on Sundays, ez you well knows, but dog-gone religion w'en it come interferin' wid a pusson's chanct to pick up a little spare change fur hisse'f on a week-day!"

"Spoke lak a true business man, Brother Lovin'," said Jeff. "Still, I reckin you's mebbe countin' the spoilt eggs 'fore they's all laid. The way I sees it, you'll do fairly well, nevertheless an' to the contrary notwithstandin'. Le's see. Ain't you goin' to have the dancin'-pavilion goin' all day?"

"Yas, but--"

"Ain't you goin' to have money rollin' in frum all the snack-stands an'

frum the fried-fish privilege an' frum the cane rackits an' frum the knock-the-babies-down an' all?"

"Tubby sh.o.r.e, but--"

"Ain't you due to pick up a right smart frum the kitty of the private c.r.a.p game an' the chuck-a-luck layout?"

"Natch.e.l.ly. But--"

"Hole on; I ain't th'ough yit. Seems lak to me you ain't properly counted up yore blessin's a-tall. Ain't the near-beer--" he sank his voice discreetly, although there was no one to overhear "ain't the near-beer an' the _still nearer_ beer goin' fetch you in a right peart lil' income? I'll say they is. An' ain't you goin' do mighty well on yore own account out of yore share of the commission frum Gumbo Rollinses' Flyin' Jinny?"

"Hole on, hole on! How come Gumbo Rollins?"

"W'y tha's all fixed," stated Jeff. "Gumbo he'll be out there 'fore sunup on the 'p'inted day wid his ole Flyin' Jinny an' his ole grind-organ an'--"

"Tain't nothin' fixed," demurred the astonished and indignant aesop.

"'Tain't nothin' fixed 'thout I fixes it. Ain't I had pestermints 'nuff las' yeah settlin' up, or tryin' to, wid that Rollins? Ain't I told him then that never ag'in would I--"

"Oh, tha's settled," announced Jeff soothingly.

"Who settled it?"

"Me."

"You?"

"Yas, me--out of pyure frien'ship fur you. Lissen, Brother Lovin', an'

give due heed. I comes to you d'rect frum Gumbo Rollins. He's done seen the error of the way he acked tow'ds you that time. He's cravin' that all the grudges of the bygone past shall be disremembered. Here's whut he's goin' to do: He's goin' give yore organization the reg'lar cut, an'

'pon top of that he's goin' hand you, pussonally an' private, a special extra five pur cent, on all he teks in; that comes ez a free-will offerin' to you. He's goin' 'bandon his plan to run ez a independint attraction on the Eighth down back of the market-house. He's goin' be wid you heart an' soul an' Flyin' Jinny. All he asts, through me, is that he kin have the right to set her up on the purtic'lar spot w'ich he's got in mind out there on them show-ground lots. An' finally an'

furthermo' he's done commission me to hand you ten dollars, unbeknownst to anybody, jes' to prove to you that his heart's in the right place an'

that he's wishful fur to do the square thing." He felt in his pockets, producing a crumpled bill. "An' here 'tis!"

aesop pouched the currency on the flank where he carried his personal funds before his commercial instinct inspired him to seek out the motives actuating the volunteer peacemaker. Experience had taught him to beware of Greeks bearing gifts--not of the gifts particularly, but of the Greeks.

"Well," he said, "ef Gumbo Rollins aims to be honest an' open an'

abovebode wid us, w'y that puts a diff'unt face on it. But so fur ez I heared tell, you an' Gumbo Rollins ain't been so thick ez all this up till now. I's wonderin' whut does you 'spect to git out of the little transaction fur yo'se'f? 'Ca'se I gives you warnin' right yere an' now that ef you's hopin' to git a split out of me you mout jes' ez well stop dreamin' ary sech a delusion an' become undelirious ag'in."

"Stop, Brother Lovin'," broke in Jeff in the tone of one aggrieved at being unjustly accused. "Has I asted you fur anything? Then wait till I does so."

"All right," agreed aesop. "I'll wait till you does so an' w'en you does so I'll say no, same ez I's already sayin' it to you in advance. Say, boy, you must have yore reasons fur the int'rust you is displayin' in dis matter."

"Whutever 'tis 'taint got nothin' to do wid lurin' no money out of yore possession," said Jeff. His voice changed to one of deep gravity.

"Brother Lovin', look yere at me."

He glanced about him, making doubly sure they were alone. He advanced one step and came to a halt; he made his figure rigid and gave first the grand hailing-sign of the Afro-American Society of Supreme Kings of the Universe, then the private signal of distress which invokes succor and support, and he wound up by uttering the cabalistic words which bind a fellow Supreme King in the vows of eternal secrecy on pain of having his heart cut out of his bosom and burned and the ashes scattered to the four winds. For his part, aesop Loving arose and, obeying the ritual, made the proper responses. In a solemn silence they exchanged the symbolic grip which is reserved only for occasions of emergency and stress and which unites brother to brother in bonds stronger than steel.

A moment later aesop Loving was alone.

It was not Jeff, the intriguer, who had colleagued with Gumbo Rollins and conspired with c.u.mp Gla.s.s, who came in the evening to the Twelfth Ward tabernacle and sought a seat on a bench well up toward the front where he could be fairly conspicuous and yet not too conspicuous; neither was it the persuasive person who had dangled the bait of private profit before the beguiled eyes of aesop Loving. Rather was it the serious, self-searching, introspective Jeff, who earlier that day had besought counsel and comfort of Aunt Dilsey Turner. He came alone, walking with head bowed as walks one who is wrapped in his own thoughts.

He arrived betimes; he remained silent and apart, inwardly communing, one would have said, while the audience rustled in.

So engrossed was he that he seemed to have no eyes even for Ophelia, who perched high aloft, the brightest flower in the hanging garden of color that banked the tiers of the choir division terracing up behind the platform. She, in turn, had no eyes for any there save Prof. Cephus Fringe, who, it should be added, had one eye for Ophelia and the other for his own person. Even by those prejudiced in his favor it was not to be denied that the Professor was, as one might say, pa.s.sionately addicted to himself. When, with Cephus Fringe accompanying and directing, the opening hymn was offered, Ophelia, lifting high her soprano voice, sang directly at, to, and for him. From the front this plainly was to be observed; in fact was the subject of whispered comment among some of Jeff's neighbors.

As though he heard them not nor saw the byplay, he gave no sign which might be interpreted as denoting annoyance or chagrin. There was only a friendly and whole-souled approval in his look when, following the song, Prof. Fringe rendered--I believe this is the customary phrase--rendered as a solo on his saxophone one of the compositions bearing his name as author. There was rapt attention and naught else in his pose and on his face the while the Rev. Wickliffe, swinging his scythe of righteousness, mowed for a solid hour in Satan's weedy back yard, so that the penitents fell in a broad swath.

From her place hard by, Aunt Dilsey vigilantly watched Jeff and was, in spite of herself, convinced of his sincerity. She marked how, at the close of the meeting, he pa.s.sed slowly, almost reluctantly out, stopping more than once and looking rearward as though half inclined to turn back and join the ranks of those who cl.u.s.tered still at the foot of the pulpit, completely and utterly won over. She was moved to direct the notice of certain of the sistren and brethren to his behavior as conspicuous proof of the compelling fervor of the Sin Killer. Swiftly the word spread that Jeff Poindexter magically had ceased to be a horrible example and was betraying evidences that he might yet become what insurance agents call a prospect.

As though to justify this hope Jeff attended Tuesday night; his presence attesting him a well-wisher, his deportment an added testimony that he deeply had been stirred by the outpoured words of the revivalist. Before the service got under way he seized upon an opportunity to be introduced to the Rev. Wickliffe. Many were spectators to the meeting between them, and speculation ran higher upon the possibility that before the week ended he would be enrolled among the avowedly convicted.

Again on Wednesday night he was on hand, an attentive and earnest listener.