So quietly Sam could barely hear, he continued, “If you fail at this time, you deserve to be spit upon.”

He leaned and spat, right onto the stage.

Something was happening at the back of the hall. In the midst of the shouting and applause, Sam couldn’t hear the fight, but he could see black heads bobbing in the crowd at the top of the aisle. He left by the back way and ran around to the front steps, where the police were dispersing a gang of Negroes—a dozen or so, Sam calculated. They scattered, except for one lying face down on the steps with two policemen pinning him. They drove their knees into the small of his back until he stopped struggling, then handcuffed him and led him across the street to jail. Sam recognized one of the cops as Sergeant Lockamy.

“Frank Thompson, that’s the name of the fellow they just hauled away,” Harry Calabash said.

“Where have you been hiding?”

“Thalian Hall, like everybody else. Your stage debut.”

The crowd was streaming out of Thalian Hall, more boisterous than ever. Men were passing flasks, shouting and arguing, laughing.

“You want to talk, Harry? You’re all spruced up—what’s the occasion?”

“I felt a need this morning to be professional”

Sam nodded. “Come with me.”

“We’re just rushing to and fro tonight, aren’t we? Where are we off to now?”

“The jail. Talk to this Thompson.”

By the time they covered the two hundred yards to the jail, a new mob was forming. The Negroes chased away from Thalian had returned with plenty of friends. The swarmed around the jail and made threatening noises, but none of them went in.

“They’ll never get anywhere like this,” Harry observed sadly. “Haven’t got anybody to lead them.”

For the moment, the white crowd milling around the corner at Thalian Hall seemed oblivious to the scene at the jail. But it wouldn’t take them long to get wise. Just then, Sergeant Lockamy appeared on the steps of the jail. Next to him stood John G. Norwood. Norwood stepped forward and raised his hands for silence. He kept waiting, but the crowd wouldn’t quiet down. He spoke anyway, his voice high and trembling. He’s scared to death, Sam thought.

“Brothers, brothers!” Norwood said. “This is no way to do!”

“They got Frank!”

“He is not going to be harmed, believe me.”

“Uncle Tom!”

“Why should we believe you?”

Lockamy stepped forward and said, “We’ll let him out in the morning, after he sleeps it off.”

“Go to your homes,” Norwood said. “Don’t start any trouble.” Over the heads of the black crowd, he could see whites in twos and threes beginning to straggle toward the jail, curious about what was going on, what new speech they were missing. “Go home—now!” Norwood’s voice took on more authority.