Chapter II The Great Question Epoch the Third: The Homesteader by Oscar Micheaux Lyrics
THE DAYS that followed after the Elder had taken his
wife away, were unhappy days for Jean Baptiste.
In his life there were certain things he had held
sacred. Chief among these was the marriage vow. While
a strong willed, obviously firm sort of person, he was by
nature sentimental. He had among his sentiments been an
enemy of divorces. Nothing to him was so distasteful as the
theory of divorce. He had always conjectured that if a
man did not drink, or gamble, or beat his wife there could be
no great cause for divorce ; whereas, with the woman, if she
was not guilty of infidelity a man could find no just cause,
on the whole, to ask for a divorce. But whatever the cause
be even a just cause he disliked the divorcing habit.
He persisted in believing that if two people whose lives were
linked together would get right down to a careful understanding and an appreciation of each other's sentiments,
or points of view, they could find it possible to live together and be happy.
Fancy therefore, how this man must have felt when he
arrived at the little house upon the wife's claim and found
his grandmother alone. They had taken his wife and all her
belongings. He lived in a sort of quandary in the days that
followed. His very existence became mechanical. And one
day while in this unhappy state, he chanced to find a little
sun bonnet that they had evidently overlooked. She had bought it the summer before, and it was too small. But he
recalled now that he had thought that it made her look very
sweet. How much the bonnet meant to him now ! He
placed it carefully away, and when he was alone in the house
in after days with only her memory as a companion he
would get and bring it forth, gaze at it long and tenderly.
It seemed to bring back the summer before when he had
been hopeful and happy and gay. It brought him more
clearly to realize and appreciate what marriage really meant
and the sacred vow. And during these hours he would
imagine he could see her again ; that she was near and from
under the little bonnet that was too small he communed
with her and he would thereupon hold a mythical conversation, with her as the listener.
Was it all because Jean Baptiste loved his wife? What
is there between love and duty ? It had never been as much
a question with Jean Baptiste as to how much he loved
her as it was a question of duty. She was his wife by the
decree of God and the law of the land. Whatever he had
been, or might have been to others, therefore had gone
completely out of his mind when he had taken her to him
as wife. And now that she was away, to his mind first came
the question, why was she away?
Yes, that was the great question. Why was she away?
Oh, the agony this question gave the man of our story.
Not one serious quarrel had they ever had. Not once had
he spoken harshly to her, nor had she been cross with him.
Not once had the thought entered his mind that they would
part ; they they could part ; that they would ever wish to part.
In the beginning, true, there had been some little difficulties
before they had become adjusted to each other's ways. But
that had taken only a few months, after which they had
gradually become devoted to each other. And so their lives had become. Out there in the "hollow of God's hand,"
their lives had become assimilated, they had looked forward
to the future when there would be the little ones, enlarging
their lives and duties.
And yet, why was his wife in Chicago without even a letter
from her to him ; or one from him to her ? Why, why, why?
N. Justine McCarthy !
Oh, the hatred that began to grow spread and take roots
in the breast of this man of the prairie toward the man who
had wilfully and deliberately wronged him, wrecked that
which was most sacred to him. The days came and went,
but that evil, twisting, warping hatred remained; it grew,
it continued to grow until his very existence became a burden
and a misery. No days were happy days to him. From
the moment he awakened in the morning until he' was lost in
slumbers in the evening, Jean Baptiste knew no peace.
While that perpetrator of his unhappiness waited impatiently
in Chicago with plans to grind and humiliate him further,
this man began to formulate plans also. With all the bitter
hatred in his soul against the cause of his unhappiness, his
plans were not the plans of " getting even," but merely to
see his wife where no subtle influences could hamper her
or warp her convictions and reason. He knew that to write
to her would be but to prove useless. The letters would be
examined and criticized by those around her. He knew that
sending her money would be only regarded as an evidence of
weakening on his part, and if he was to deal, weakness
must have no place. So as to how he might see his wife, and
give her an opportunity to appreciate duty, became his daily
determination.
The great steam tractor, breaking prairie on his sister's
homestead was diligently at its task, and while it turned over
from twenty to thirty acres of wild sod each day, it also ate coal like a locomotive. So to it he was kept busy hauling
coal over the thirty-five miles from Colome. On the land
he was having broken (for he had teams breaking prairie
in addition to the tractor) he had arranged to sow flaxseed.
For two years preceding this date, crops had been perceptibly shorter, due to drought. Therefore seeds of all
kind had attained a much higher price than previously.
Flaxseed that he had raised and sold thousands of bushels
of in years gone by for one dollar a bushel he was now com-
pelled to pay the sum of $3.00 a bushel therefor.
So with a steam tractor hired at an average cost of $60
a day ; with extra men in addition to be boarded ; and with
hauling the coal for the tractor himself such a distance and
other expenses, Jean Baptiste, unlike his august- father-in-
law, had little time or patience to sit around consuming his
time and substance perpetrating a game of spite.
But he was positive that he would needs lose his mental
balance unless he journey to Chicago and see his wife.
Alone she would have time, he conjectured to think, to see
and to realize just what she was doing. Why should they be
separated ? Positively there was nothing and never had been
anything amiss between them, was what passed daily through
his mind. Well, he decided that he would go to her as soon
as he had arranged matters so he could. He was peeved
when he recalled that the spring before he had been forced
to make a trip to that same city that could as well have been
avoided. But when anything had to be done, Jean Baptiste
usually went after it and was through. In business where
he was pitted against men, this was not difficult, and instead
of disliking to face such music, he rather relished the zest
it gave him. But when a man is dealing with a snake for
nothing else can a man who would sacrifice his own blood
to vanity be likened to, it must be admitted that the task
worried Jean Baptiste. If N. Justine McCarthy had been a
reader, an observer, and a judge of mankind as well as a
student of human nature and its vicissitudes he could have
realized that murder was not short for such actions as he
was perpetrating. But here again Jean Baptiste was too
busy. He had no time to waste in jail for even if killing the man who had done him such an injury be justified
he realized that justice in such cases works slowly. But
it would be vain and untruthful to say that with the bitterness in his heart, Jean Baptiste did not reach a point in his
mind where he could have slain in cold blood the man with
whom he was dealing.
At last came the time when he could be spared from his
farm, and to Chicago he journeyed. Positively this was one
trip to that city that gave him no joy. He estimated before
reaching there, that he should best not call up the house, but
bide his time and try to meet his wife elsewhere. But when
he arrived in the city, and not being a coward, he dismissed
this idea and went directly to the house in Vernon Avenue.
He was met at the door by " Little Mother Mary," who did
not greet him as she might have, but for certain reasons.
The most she could do even to live in the same atmosphere
with her husband was to pretend to act in accordance with
his sentiments. Baptiste followed her back to the rear room
where she took a seat and he sat down beside her. She had
uttered no word of greeting, but he came directly to the
point. " Where is Orlean ? "
" She's out."
"Out where?"
" She just walked out into the street."
"How is she?"
" Better than when she came home," meaningly.
" When she was brought home," he corrected.
"Well?"
" But I am not here to argue whereof. I am here to see
her."
" But she's out."
" However, she'll return, I hope. If not, then, where
might I find her ? "
" She'll return presently."
He was silent for a time while she regarded him nervously,
listening in the meantime as if expecting some one. She was
afraid. Her husband had left the city only that morning;
but behind him he had left an escutcheon who could and
was, as capable of making matters as disagreeable. It was
Ethel, and Mrs. McCarthy was aware that that one was
upstairs. The household had been conducted according to
the desires and dictates of the Elder. Wherefore she was
uneasy. Baptiste observed her now, and made mental note
as to the cause of the expression of uneasiness upon her face.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
She did not reply, but sighed.
"What's the matter, Mother Mary?" he asked kindly.
Her love and admiration asserted itself momentarily in the
look with which she replied to him. How in that moment
she wanted to tell him all, and to be to him as she had
always wanted to be. But only a moment was she so, then
that look of hunted fear overspread her face again, and she
turned uneasily toward the stairs.
" Won't you tell me what the matter is, mother ? " she
heard him again. For answer the quick glance over her
shoulder was sufficient. It was as if to say. " Hush !
Enemies are near ! " He then estimated that the Elder had
gone to the southern part of the state, but Ethel must be
near, and it was Ethel whom the mother feared. He under-
stood then, that the Reverend had a cunning way of having Ethel do his bidding. Because she was possessed of his
evil disposition, he could trust her to carry out anything on
this order that is, providing she disliked the person in
question, and that was usually the case, for, like him, there
were few people whom she really liked.
" What have you been doing to my child ? " he heard from
Mother Mary, presently. He studied her face again and
saw that she was trying to reckon with him herself, although
he knew that it mattered little what she thought or did on
the whole.
" Has she told you what I have been doing to her ? " he
said. She shifted uncomfortably, looked around a little,
listened for a sound that she expected to hear sooner or later,
and then replied, and in doing so, he saw that she was again
subservient to the old training.
" My husband told me," she countered.
" Oh," he echoed.
" You have not acted with discretion," she said again, and
he understood her. Acting with " discretion " would been
never to have given the Reverend an excuse for making that
trip. . . .
" I have been good to your daughter ; a husband to the best
of my ability."
" But you you should not have blundered." Again
he was reminded of what it meant to displease or give her
husband any excuse.
" I did not agree in this room a year ago to be regardful
of the opinion of others," he defended. " I agreed to the
word of the law and of God. I have tried to fulfill that
word. I did not intend to be absent when the child came."
She shifted again uneasily, and her mind went back to the
day Orlean was born and that her husband, too, had been
away. . . .
" If I can see Orlean that will be sufficient," he said.
" She went to walk."
"Mother?"
She regarded him again, and then turned her eyes away
for she could not stand to look long into his. The truth
there would upset her and she knew it.
" Why must this be so ? " She shifted uneasily again.
Oh, if she could only be brave. If she could only dare
but she was not brave, Orlean was not brave. They had
lived their lives too long subservient to the will of others
to attempt bravery now. She rested her eyes on some sew-
ing she pretended to do and waited. It could only be for a
little while. Ethel must learn sooner or later of his pres-
ence, and then ! There would be a scene or he must
go.
" It's a shame," said the other.
" You should have been careful," she returned meaningly.
But in her mind was still the dream. If she could be
brave. . . .
" Mother ! " called some one sharply. Jean recognized the
voice, the command. The other's face went pale for a
moment, while her eyes closed. He understood. The worst
had come. In the minutes they had been sitting there, she
had almost dared hope that Orlean would return, and that
in some way perhaps it would have to come from heaven
they could fly. But chances now were gone. His cohort
had appeared. " Who is it out there ? " she asked, and came
toward where they sat. She saw him then, and regarded
him coldly. Through her mind shot the fact that her father
had waited three weeks for him, and had just left that morn-
ing. Her disappointment was keen. For a moment she was
frightened. In truth she held a fearsome admiration for the
man, and then she stiffened. She had come back to herself ; to the fact that she had a reputation for being disagreeable.
She turned to him, and said :
" What are you doing here ? "
He answered her not. Her mother was trembling.
" Get out of this house ! " she commanded, getting control
of herself.
Baptiste was in a quandary. He recalled how he had seen
her make her husband jump as if trying to get out of his
skin when she was in her evil spasms.
" Did you hear ! " she almost screamed.
" I am waiting for my wife," he replied then calmly.
" She is my sister ! " she screamed again.
" I suppose I am aware of that."
" Then you cannot have her ! "
" She is mine already."
" You're a liar ! " she yelled, crying now, and her evil
little face screwed up horribly in her anger. Mrs. McCarthy was trembling as if a chill had come over her.
Ethel suddenly flew to the 'phone. She got a number, and
he heard her scream:
" Glavis ! Glav is. . . That man is here ! . . . Glav is !
. . . That man is here ! . . ." He could understand no
more, then, but saw that she was frantic. He finally heard
Mother Mary.
" You're wanted at the 'phone," she said, tremblingly.
He got up and went to it. Ethel was dancing about the
room like a demon.
" Hello ! " he called.
" Hello ! " came back. " Ah ha who who who
is th-is ? " the other sputtered, all excitement.
" Baptiste," replied the other, wondering at his excite-
ment,
" Wh at a re yo u do-i-ng a t m-y h-o-u-s-e ? "
" Oh, say," called back Baptiste. " There's nobody dead
out here. Now calm yourself and say what you want to.
I'm listening."
" Well," said the other, a little better controlled. " I
ask what you are doing at my house ? "
" Your house ! " echoed Baptiste, uncomprehendingly.
" Why, I do not understand you."
" I want to know what you are doing at my house after
what you said about me ! "
" At your house after what I said about you ! " Baptiste
repeated.
" Yes. You said I was ' nothing but a thirteen dollars a
week jockey and all that." Baptiste was thoughtful. He
had never said anything about Glavis and then he under-
stood. Some more of the Elder's work.
" Now, Glavis, I do not understand what you mean when
you say what I said about you ; but as for my being here,
that is distinctly no wish of mine. But you know my wife
is here, and it is her I am here to see. No other."
" But I want to see you downtown you come down
here!"
Baptiste was thoughtful. He knew that he could exert
no influence over Orlean when she did return with Ethel
acting as she was, so he might as well be downtown for the
present as elsewhere. So he answered :
" Well, alright."
Ethel slammed and locked the door behind him, and he
walked over to Cottage Grove Avenue and boarded a car.
wife away, were unhappy days for Jean Baptiste.
In his life there were certain things he had held
sacred. Chief among these was the marriage vow. While
a strong willed, obviously firm sort of person, he was by
nature sentimental. He had among his sentiments been an
enemy of divorces. Nothing to him was so distasteful as the
theory of divorce. He had always conjectured that if a
man did not drink, or gamble, or beat his wife there could be
no great cause for divorce ; whereas, with the woman, if she
was not guilty of infidelity a man could find no just cause,
on the whole, to ask for a divorce. But whatever the cause
be even a just cause he disliked the divorcing habit.
He persisted in believing that if two people whose lives were
linked together would get right down to a careful understanding and an appreciation of each other's sentiments,
or points of view, they could find it possible to live together and be happy.
Fancy therefore, how this man must have felt when he
arrived at the little house upon the wife's claim and found
his grandmother alone. They had taken his wife and all her
belongings. He lived in a sort of quandary in the days that
followed. His very existence became mechanical. And one
day while in this unhappy state, he chanced to find a little
sun bonnet that they had evidently overlooked. She had bought it the summer before, and it was too small. But he
recalled now that he had thought that it made her look very
sweet. How much the bonnet meant to him now ! He
placed it carefully away, and when he was alone in the house
in after days with only her memory as a companion he
would get and bring it forth, gaze at it long and tenderly.
It seemed to bring back the summer before when he had
been hopeful and happy and gay. It brought him more
clearly to realize and appreciate what marriage really meant
and the sacred vow. And during these hours he would
imagine he could see her again ; that she was near and from
under the little bonnet that was too small he communed
with her and he would thereupon hold a mythical conversation, with her as the listener.
Was it all because Jean Baptiste loved his wife? What
is there between love and duty ? It had never been as much
a question with Jean Baptiste as to how much he loved
her as it was a question of duty. She was his wife by the
decree of God and the law of the land. Whatever he had
been, or might have been to others, therefore had gone
completely out of his mind when he had taken her to him
as wife. And now that she was away, to his mind first came
the question, why was she away?
Yes, that was the great question. Why was she away?
Oh, the agony this question gave the man of our story.
Not one serious quarrel had they ever had. Not once had
he spoken harshly to her, nor had she been cross with him.
Not once had the thought entered his mind that they would
part ; they they could part ; that they would ever wish to part.
In the beginning, true, there had been some little difficulties
before they had become adjusted to each other's ways. But
that had taken only a few months, after which they had
gradually become devoted to each other. And so their lives had become. Out there in the "hollow of God's hand,"
their lives had become assimilated, they had looked forward
to the future when there would be the little ones, enlarging
their lives and duties.
And yet, why was his wife in Chicago without even a letter
from her to him ; or one from him to her ? Why, why, why?
N. Justine McCarthy !
Oh, the hatred that began to grow spread and take roots
in the breast of this man of the prairie toward the man who
had wilfully and deliberately wronged him, wrecked that
which was most sacred to him. The days came and went,
but that evil, twisting, warping hatred remained; it grew,
it continued to grow until his very existence became a burden
and a misery. No days were happy days to him. From
the moment he awakened in the morning until he' was lost in
slumbers in the evening, Jean Baptiste knew no peace.
While that perpetrator of his unhappiness waited impatiently
in Chicago with plans to grind and humiliate him further,
this man began to formulate plans also. With all the bitter
hatred in his soul against the cause of his unhappiness, his
plans were not the plans of " getting even," but merely to
see his wife where no subtle influences could hamper her
or warp her convictions and reason. He knew that to write
to her would be but to prove useless. The letters would be
examined and criticized by those around her. He knew that
sending her money would be only regarded as an evidence of
weakening on his part, and if he was to deal, weakness
must have no place. So as to how he might see his wife, and
give her an opportunity to appreciate duty, became his daily
determination.
The great steam tractor, breaking prairie on his sister's
homestead was diligently at its task, and while it turned over
from twenty to thirty acres of wild sod each day, it also ate coal like a locomotive. So to it he was kept busy hauling
coal over the thirty-five miles from Colome. On the land
he was having broken (for he had teams breaking prairie
in addition to the tractor) he had arranged to sow flaxseed.
For two years preceding this date, crops had been perceptibly shorter, due to drought. Therefore seeds of all
kind had attained a much higher price than previously.
Flaxseed that he had raised and sold thousands of bushels
of in years gone by for one dollar a bushel he was now com-
pelled to pay the sum of $3.00 a bushel therefor.
So with a steam tractor hired at an average cost of $60
a day ; with extra men in addition to be boarded ; and with
hauling the coal for the tractor himself such a distance and
other expenses, Jean Baptiste, unlike his august- father-in-
law, had little time or patience to sit around consuming his
time and substance perpetrating a game of spite.
But he was positive that he would needs lose his mental
balance unless he journey to Chicago and see his wife.
Alone she would have time, he conjectured to think, to see
and to realize just what she was doing. Why should they be
separated ? Positively there was nothing and never had been
anything amiss between them, was what passed daily through
his mind. Well, he decided that he would go to her as soon
as he had arranged matters so he could. He was peeved
when he recalled that the spring before he had been forced
to make a trip to that same city that could as well have been
avoided. But when anything had to be done, Jean Baptiste
usually went after it and was through. In business where
he was pitted against men, this was not difficult, and instead
of disliking to face such music, he rather relished the zest
it gave him. But when a man is dealing with a snake for
nothing else can a man who would sacrifice his own blood
to vanity be likened to, it must be admitted that the task
worried Jean Baptiste. If N. Justine McCarthy had been a
reader, an observer, and a judge of mankind as well as a
student of human nature and its vicissitudes he could have
realized that murder was not short for such actions as he
was perpetrating. But here again Jean Baptiste was too
busy. He had no time to waste in jail for even if killing the man who had done him such an injury be justified
he realized that justice in such cases works slowly. But
it would be vain and untruthful to say that with the bitterness in his heart, Jean Baptiste did not reach a point in his
mind where he could have slain in cold blood the man with
whom he was dealing.
At last came the time when he could be spared from his
farm, and to Chicago he journeyed. Positively this was one
trip to that city that gave him no joy. He estimated before
reaching there, that he should best not call up the house, but
bide his time and try to meet his wife elsewhere. But when
he arrived in the city, and not being a coward, he dismissed
this idea and went directly to the house in Vernon Avenue.
He was met at the door by " Little Mother Mary," who did
not greet him as she might have, but for certain reasons.
The most she could do even to live in the same atmosphere
with her husband was to pretend to act in accordance with
his sentiments. Baptiste followed her back to the rear room
where she took a seat and he sat down beside her. She had
uttered no word of greeting, but he came directly to the
point. " Where is Orlean ? "
" She's out."
"Out where?"
" She just walked out into the street."
"How is she?"
" Better than when she came home," meaningly.
" When she was brought home," he corrected.
"Well?"
" But I am not here to argue whereof. I am here to see
her."
" But she's out."
" However, she'll return, I hope. If not, then, where
might I find her ? "
" She'll return presently."
He was silent for a time while she regarded him nervously,
listening in the meantime as if expecting some one. She was
afraid. Her husband had left the city only that morning;
but behind him he had left an escutcheon who could and
was, as capable of making matters as disagreeable. It was
Ethel, and Mrs. McCarthy was aware that that one was
upstairs. The household had been conducted according to
the desires and dictates of the Elder. Wherefore she was
uneasy. Baptiste observed her now, and made mental note
as to the cause of the expression of uneasiness upon her face.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
She did not reply, but sighed.
"What's the matter, Mother Mary?" he asked kindly.
Her love and admiration asserted itself momentarily in the
look with which she replied to him. How in that moment
she wanted to tell him all, and to be to him as she had
always wanted to be. But only a moment was she so, then
that look of hunted fear overspread her face again, and she
turned uneasily toward the stairs.
" Won't you tell me what the matter is, mother ? " she
heard him again. For answer the quick glance over her
shoulder was sufficient. It was as if to say. " Hush !
Enemies are near ! " He then estimated that the Elder had
gone to the southern part of the state, but Ethel must be
near, and it was Ethel whom the mother feared. He under-
stood then, that the Reverend had a cunning way of having Ethel do his bidding. Because she was possessed of his
evil disposition, he could trust her to carry out anything on
this order that is, providing she disliked the person in
question, and that was usually the case, for, like him, there
were few people whom she really liked.
" What have you been doing to my child ? " he heard from
Mother Mary, presently. He studied her face again and
saw that she was trying to reckon with him herself, although
he knew that it mattered little what she thought or did on
the whole.
" Has she told you what I have been doing to her ? " he
said. She shifted uncomfortably, looked around a little,
listened for a sound that she expected to hear sooner or later,
and then replied, and in doing so, he saw that she was again
subservient to the old training.
" My husband told me," she countered.
" Oh," he echoed.
" You have not acted with discretion," she said again, and
he understood her. Acting with " discretion " would been
never to have given the Reverend an excuse for making that
trip. . . .
" I have been good to your daughter ; a husband to the best
of my ability."
" But you you should not have blundered." Again
he was reminded of what it meant to displease or give her
husband any excuse.
" I did not agree in this room a year ago to be regardful
of the opinion of others," he defended. " I agreed to the
word of the law and of God. I have tried to fulfill that
word. I did not intend to be absent when the child came."
She shifted again uneasily, and her mind went back to the
day Orlean was born and that her husband, too, had been
away. . . .
" If I can see Orlean that will be sufficient," he said.
" She went to walk."
"Mother?"
She regarded him again, and then turned her eyes away
for she could not stand to look long into his. The truth
there would upset her and she knew it.
" Why must this be so ? " She shifted uneasily again.
Oh, if she could only be brave. If she could only dare
but she was not brave, Orlean was not brave. They had
lived their lives too long subservient to the will of others
to attempt bravery now. She rested her eyes on some sew-
ing she pretended to do and waited. It could only be for a
little while. Ethel must learn sooner or later of his pres-
ence, and then ! There would be a scene or he must
go.
" It's a shame," said the other.
" You should have been careful," she returned meaningly.
But in her mind was still the dream. If she could be
brave. . . .
" Mother ! " called some one sharply. Jean recognized the
voice, the command. The other's face went pale for a
moment, while her eyes closed. He understood. The worst
had come. In the minutes they had been sitting there, she
had almost dared hope that Orlean would return, and that
in some way perhaps it would have to come from heaven
they could fly. But chances now were gone. His cohort
had appeared. " Who is it out there ? " she asked, and came
toward where they sat. She saw him then, and regarded
him coldly. Through her mind shot the fact that her father
had waited three weeks for him, and had just left that morn-
ing. Her disappointment was keen. For a moment she was
frightened. In truth she held a fearsome admiration for the
man, and then she stiffened. She had come back to herself ; to the fact that she had a reputation for being disagreeable.
She turned to him, and said :
" What are you doing here ? "
He answered her not. Her mother was trembling.
" Get out of this house ! " she commanded, getting control
of herself.
Baptiste was in a quandary. He recalled how he had seen
her make her husband jump as if trying to get out of his
skin when she was in her evil spasms.
" Did you hear ! " she almost screamed.
" I am waiting for my wife," he replied then calmly.
" She is my sister ! " she screamed again.
" I suppose I am aware of that."
" Then you cannot have her ! "
" She is mine already."
" You're a liar ! " she yelled, crying now, and her evil
little face screwed up horribly in her anger. Mrs. McCarthy was trembling as if a chill had come over her.
Ethel suddenly flew to the 'phone. She got a number, and
he heard her scream:
" Glavis ! Glav is. . . That man is here ! . . . Glav is !
. . . That man is here ! . . ." He could understand no
more, then, but saw that she was frantic. He finally heard
Mother Mary.
" You're wanted at the 'phone," she said, tremblingly.
He got up and went to it. Ethel was dancing about the
room like a demon.
" Hello ! " he called.
" Hello ! " came back. " Ah ha who who who
is th-is ? " the other sputtered, all excitement.
" Baptiste," replied the other, wondering at his excite-
ment,
" Wh at a re yo u do-i-ng a t m-y h-o-u-s-e ? "
" Oh, say," called back Baptiste. " There's nobody dead
out here. Now calm yourself and say what you want to.
I'm listening."
" Well," said the other, a little better controlled. " I
ask what you are doing at my house ? "
" Your house ! " echoed Baptiste, uncomprehendingly.
" Why, I do not understand you."
" I want to know what you are doing at my house after
what you said about me ! "
" At your house after what I said about you ! " Baptiste
repeated.
" Yes. You said I was ' nothing but a thirteen dollars a
week jockey and all that." Baptiste was thoughtful. He
had never said anything about Glavis and then he under-
stood. Some more of the Elder's work.
" Now, Glavis, I do not understand what you mean when
you say what I said about you ; but as for my being here,
that is distinctly no wish of mine. But you know my wife
is here, and it is her I am here to see. No other."
" But I want to see you downtown you come down
here!"
Baptiste was thoughtful. He knew that he could exert
no influence over Orlean when she did return with Ethel
acting as she was, so he might as well be downtown for the
present as elsewhere. So he answered :
" Well, alright."
Ethel slammed and locked the door behind him, and he
walked over to Cottage Grove Avenue and boarded a car.