“Last night, the law was broken. A young Northerner named Adam Cramer delivered an inflammatory speech on the steps of the county courthouse, in which he indirectly exhorted the citizens of Caxton to become renegades.

“This speech resulted in an unprovoked attack upon an out-of-county Negro family who happened to be passing through Caxton.

“It was considered by some unthinking officials to be a minor incident. But it was not a minor incident. In just this way—”

“Mr. McDaniel?”

Tom looked up from his typewriter. Standing in the office, smiling pleasantly, was Adam Cramer.

“How are you this morning, sir?”

Tom stared at him, but did not accept the hand. “What do you want?” he asked.

Adam Cramer continued smiling. “Not much,” he said. “I just want to give you a little business.”

“Yes?”

“You do run ads, don’t you?”

“If they meet certain standards.”

Adam Cramer withdrew a folded paper from his breast pocket, read it once, and dropped it on the desk. “I just heard about what happened last night,” he said. “It was a shame.”

“You must be proud.”

Jack Allardyce knocked on the open door. “We’re waiting on the copy,” the old man said.

“You’ll keep on waiting until I finish it,” Tom snapped. “Now don’t bother me.”

The old man left, shocked.

Adam Cramer seated himself in the cane-bottomed chair and crossed his legs. “I’m not sure exactly what you meant by that remark,” he said, “but I can tell you, Mr. McDaniel, I was very upset.”

“Really?”

“Yes. If you managed to catch my speech, you’ll recall that I emphasized the legal aspects of fighting integration. Just as you’ve been doing in your paper. I certainly had no idea that—”

“That’s a lie!” Tom said, feeling the hot redness creep into his face. “You knew exactly what would happen. Cramer, I’m glad you’re here because I have some things to say to you, and I’d advise you to listen.”

“I’ll be happy to,” Adam Cramer said.

“First, I think you’re a fraud. I don’t know that for sure, but I think it. Whether you are or not is incidental right now. What is certain is that you’re a rabble-rouser, and I don’t like rabble-rousers. If you’d come to the officials of the town and presented the plans you think you have, everyone would have co-operated—because we are in trouble, and we could use help—maybe. But you didn’t do that. You weren’t about to do it.”

“Go on,” Adam Cramer said.

“Instead you got the people worked up. You played on their fears and on their hates. Then, before the fireworks went off, you sneaked away. You might as well know that I did my level best to have you thrown in jail for what you did.”

Adam Cramer was silent.

“We don’t want your type here,” Tom said, realizing suddenly that he was becoming altogether too angry. “You understand?”

“Who is ‘we,’ sir?”

“The responsible citizens of this town.”