Long hatred of the Jews had given Mr. Staubermeyer both training and professional delight in the art of Rumorizing. Evening after evening, when other residents of Sylvan Park said, “I don’t see anything particularly objectionable about Kingsblood; seems a nice quiet fellow,” Mr. Staubermeyer gave forth, “You know he not only got fired from the bank for embezzlement but had a fight with his own father and yelled at him so outrageously that the poor old fellow dropped dead from a heart attack. I heard that from old Doc Kingsblood’s own assistant, who was right there at the time.”

“What? Is that so? Well!”

Chapter 53

The epidemic of firing went on, but not everything was evil for the lost people in dark Egypt. Certain returned soldiers said that if a man could die with them in Europe, he could dine with them in Minnesota, and they had Phil Windeck elected to the American Legion.

Yet they were less friendly than their fathers might have been. Thirty years before, the Negroes had seemed to be gaining so much more of what they wanted because they had apparently wanted so much less. They had demanded then only a roof and sidemeat and not to be lynched. Now, they were demanding every human right, and whites who were self-admiringly willing to give them a dish of cold potatoes were sometimes unwilling to give them room at the workbench and the polling-booth, and muttered, “We’ve been too easy. We got to clamp down on these apes before they claim they can do our job just as good as we can.” The black crusade had never seemed so risky as now, but any gain that was made was a real increase in human dignity, not a pink bow tied on inescapable chains.

Neil might have been comforted by Phil’s small laurels—he did not know how doubtful Phil himself was about accepting them—but he was suffering from domestic twinges. Vestal was doing so well at Tarr’s that she began to see herself not just as husband’s little helper but, quite properly, as on her way to a lively career of her own in what she had come to consider “the art of merchandising.” She was turning from a Popular Young Matron into a woman. She exulted to Neil that, after Booker T. arrived, she could hire a nurse for him and become a buyer, a department-head, at Tarr’s, with her own office, her trips to New York, drawing-room on the train, hotel suite, handsome dinners.

–-Maybe some day she’ll own a business and give me a job as colored porter. Am I doing her any kindness by sticking to her? Why not give up this house, this way of living? Could I be a man on my own? Can I get the education that enables a Sugar Gowse to live alone? Ought I to go? I will if it seems best for her.