“Weren’t you scared?” asked Sandy.

“Sho, we was scared,” said Uncle Dan, “but we ain’t act like it. Niggers was smart in them days.”

“They’re still smart,” said Jap Logan, “if they can lie like you.”

“I mean!” said Buster.

“Uncle Dan’s the world’s champeen liar,” drawled a tall lanky boy. “Come on, let’s chip in and buy him a sandwich, ’cause he’s lied enough fo’ one evening.”

They soon crowded into the lunch-room and sat on stools at the counter ordering soda or ice-cream from the fat good-natured waitress. While they were eating, a gambler bolted in from the back room of the pool hall with a handful of coins he had just won.

“Gonna feed ma belly while I got it in ma hand,” he shouted. “Can’t tell when I might lose, ’cause de dice is runnin’ they own way tonight. Say, Mattie,” he yelled, “tell chef to gimme a beefsteak all beat up like Jim Jeffries, cop o’ coffee strong as Jack Johnson, an’ come flyin’ like a airship so I can get back in the game. Tell that kitchen buggar sweet-papa Stingaree’s out here!”

“All right, keep yo’ collar on,” said Mattie. “De steak’s got to be cooked.”

“What you want, Uncle Dan?” yelled the gambler to the old man. “While I’s winnin’, might as well feed you, too. Take some ham and cabbage or something. That sandwich ain’t ’nough to fill you up.”

Uncle Dan accepted a plate of spareribs, and Stingaree threw down a pile of nickels on the counter.

“Injuns an’ buffaloes,” he said loudly. “Two things de white folks done killed, so they puts ’em on de backs o’ nickels.... Rush up that steak there, gal, I’s hongry!”

Sandy finished his drink and bought a copy of the Chicago Defender, the World’s Greatest Negro Weekly, which was sold at the counter. Across the front in big red letters there was a headline: Negro Boy Lynched. There was also an account of a race riot in a Northern industrial city. On the theatrical page a picture of pretty Baby Alice Whitman, the tap-dancer, attracted his attention, and he read a few of the items there concerning colored shows; but as he was about to turn the page, a little article in the bottom corner made him pause and put the paper down on the counter.

ACTRESS MAKES HIT

St. Louis, Mo., Aug. 3: Harrietta Williams, sensational young blues-singer, has been packing the Booker Washington Theatre to the doors here this week. Jones and Jones are the headliners for the all-colored vaudeville bill, but the singing of Miss Williams has been the outstanding drawing card. She is being held over for a continued engagement, with Billy Sanderlee at the piano.

“Billy Sanderlee,” said Buster, who was looking over Sandy’s shoulder. “That’s that freckled-faced yellow guy who used to play for dances around here, isn’t it? He could really beat a piano to death, all right!”

“Sure could,” replied Sandy. “Gee, they must make a great team together, ’cause my Aunt Harrie can certainly sing and dance!”