Likewise, there was the memorable episode of the drunken tramp. Stumbling into this resort of innocent youth under the belief that it was a saloon, he was summarily ejected by the police. For a time, a splintered mirror gave silent testimony to this banishment. It evidenced the casting of a root beer mug at the white coated soda dispenser by the vulgar varlet, obsessed by the delusion that he was enjoying the more thrilling sport of heaving a beer stein at a bartender.

But by far the greater number of refusals of service, with its corollary of altercation and throwings out, had to do with negroes.

"I ain't serving 'em in my place," Mr. Vivian had proclaimed, with a frank disregard of at least the spirit of the fifteenth amendment.

The sweets dispensed by Mr. Vivian drew the black people as mola.s.ses does the fly, and South Ridgefield had a large percentage of negro residents. For a time hardly a day pa.s.sed without noisy wrangles.

Comfortably seated in full view and hearing of such disputes, the elect were greatly edified thereby. Of late, such disturbances had decreased, and, as they had ended always in favor of the confectioner, he felt a.s.sured that he had settled the race issue in his own place at least.

Mr. Vivian waited today behind his marble topped counter and supervised his numerous a.s.sistants. Through the front windows he watched the mult.i.tude which had a.s.sembled to view the minstrel parade disperse. He observed an influx of gilded youth over his threshold. One listening to explanations would have gathered that the unusual number present was not due to interest in such low concerns as minstrel bands. Through untoward events the pageant had obtruded itself, as it were, into blase vision.

Mr. Vivian's eyes, as has been suggested, rested upon the street.

Into his optical angle rolled the Dale car. It was well known to the confectioner. Often it paused for long periods before his place while Virginia refreshed herself within. It was his delight, at these times, to greet the maiden with profound respect, as his heart swelled with pride. The car of Obadiah Dale, the wealthiest, and in consequence, in Mr. Vivian's judgment, the peak of the town's social strata, awaited without. Within the house of Vivian, the heiress partook of Vivian products. What could be more appropriate?

The spectacle of the big machine given up to the conveyance of this small maiden had always pleased Mr. Vivian. There was a cavalier disregard of the cost of gasoline, oil, and tires which appealed to him. Today, the large pa.s.senger list astonished him, and, even as the number impressed him, their aspect amazed him.

"Negroes," he gasped, "coming _here_!" There are moments in every life which have far-reaching consequences. The confectioner faced one.

The car stopped at the Vivian door. The glad shouts of infants penetrated the halls set apart for the fashionable. They offended the ears of the elect.

"There is Virginia Dale and those colored kids with whom she was making a spectacle of herself in the minstrel parade," sneered an excited girl.

"If she brings them in here, I'll leave and never come back."

"Oh, don't worry," a man of the world, of sixteen, calmed her. "Old Viv won't stand for any foolishness. You watch him."

"Virginia Dale has lived so long in that big house with only colored people that she likes them for friends," declared another girl contemptuously. "Too good to a.s.sociate with any of the young people of this town, she parades around like that. I think it is disgusting myself and I would tell her so, for very little."

These and similar remarks filled the ears of the perplexed proprietor.

He decided that whatever was done in this instance had better be done, contrary to his usual practice, beyond the hearing of the elect.

He rushed out to the waiting car. A smile was upon his face but it was not his usual one of hearty welcome. It spoke of hidden pain and anxiety.

"How do you do, Mr. Vivian," Virginia courteously greeted the dispenser of toothsome delicacies. "I want you to meet these little people from the Lincoln Home."

He cast a glance into the nest of the blackbirds. It lacked that interest with which new friends should be greeted. He felt the curious glances of the chosen, impinging against his back.

"They are hungry, Mr. Vivian. We have had a long ride and the children missed their lunch watching the parade. Each of us wants the nicest ice cream cone you can make. Seventeen, please."

"Cones!" Light dawned in Mr. Vivian's darkness.

"Bring them out, please?" Virginia begged.

"Out?" The clouds which had veiled the true Mr. Vivian rolled aside.

Came sunshine and gladsome welcome.

In a moment the confectioner was behind his counter urging his a.s.sistants to diligence. In joyous relief, he shouted, "Make 'em big, boys. Make 'em big!"

Then, disregarding the feelings of the staring elect, Mr. Vivian hastened forth, bearing a box of cones. In a moment, with his kindest smile, encouraged by Virginia, he delivered with his own hand, to each infant, one of his products.

"The poor things. I don't suppose orphans get ice cream cones very often, do they?" Virginia asked the woman.

"Some ain' nevah had none afo', Ah bets. Has you, chillun? Who had one?" Six worldly wise infants voted in the affirmative.

Mr. Vivian was stirred deeply by this information. That human beings were permitted to arrive at such an age without experience of cones struck him as an economic mistake. "It's a shame," he cried.

"They eat them as though they were used to them," laughed Virginia.

"Yes," he agreed, as he watched the mouths of the blackbirds wag in solemn unison. Another thought struck him. "You have had these orphans out for a ride all morning, Miss Dale?"

She nodded. "We've had a grand time, too. Haven't we, children?"

Mouths were too full for utterance but there was a unanimous bobbing of heads.

When Virginia opened her purse to pay for the cones, Mr. Vivian, after inspecting the tendered currency for a moment, submitted a proposal.

"Miss Dale, would you object if I presented the cones to the children?

I would be glad to do it."

There was a look of understanding in Virginia's eyes as she answered him, "I know how you feel about it. I can't let you do it today, though, Mr. Vivian. You see, it is my treat."

Motionless as a statue, Mr. Vivian stood before the door of his establishment and watched the machine depart. As it disappeared a look of great approval rested upon his countenance. "There goes a darn fine girl," he muttered. He threw back his fat shoulders and worked them as though a great load had been recently removed from them.

"Thank heaven," he cried, "she didn't take it into her head to unload that outfit in my place." He scratched his head. "What would I have done?"

CHAPTER V

ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN

It was past one o'clock when Virginia left the colored children at the Orphans' Home. The purchase of the cones had detained them much longer than she had antic.i.p.ated. Now, rid of her guests, she remembered her meeting with her father. Appreciating with dismay how the minutes had flown, she considered it advisable to return home as soon as practicable that rough water might be lubricated.

"Hurry, Ike," she told the chauffeur.

Now, Ike needed little encouragement in this matter. It delighted him exceedingly to find excuse to unloose the surplus power of the fast machine. Tantalizing qualms which only Serena's cooking could quiet likewise beset him. It was his custom to lunch early and abundantly.

Ike hurried. In a moment the car was rushing along one of South Ridgefield's residential streets at a high rate of speed. Virginia's thoughts rehea.r.s.ed the events of the morning. Those of the chauffeur antic.i.p.ated his delayed repast.

They approached a corner. The hoa.r.s.e honk of a horn sounded from the intersecting street. At the crossing came an instantaneous perception of a man approaching at high speed upon a motorcycle and trying to dodge. The sickening sensation of impending peril held the girl as the emergency brake squealed. A heavy shock at the back of the automobile seemed to lift it. Virginia screamed. The motorcycle rider half dove, half tumbled out from the back of the big car and crumpled an inert and senseless heap in the street.

The Dale car stopped almost at the instant of the shock. Seeming to fall from his seat, Ike ran back and stared for a second at the upset motorcycle and then hurried to the rec.u.mbent figure.

A bystander rushed out and joined the chauffeur, crying, "Is he dead?"

Ike, filled with personal woes, took no heed of the inquiry. "Run squa'e into me. Smack bang. Done knock er big dent in ma caah," he protested.

Luckily the bystander was a man of action rather than words. He gave attention to the stricken one. "Get the doctor, over there," he commanded sharply, pointing to a white house nearby.

Ike disappeared on the run.