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Caught red-handed, whereupon he had struck with a piece of iron pipe at the officer who surprised him and then lay on the ground where the officer had felled him with a pistol-butt, cursing through his broken mouth, his teeth fixed into something like

check, and ejects at you, like a toad, a word about the weather. Beyond a corroboration of his meteorological statement you would better not venture. You are not Bogle’s friend; you are a fed, transient customer, and you and he may not meet again until the blowing of Gabriel’s dinner horn

If the transients were entranced by the fascinating Aileen, the regulars were her adorers. There was much rivalry among many of the steady customers. Aileen could have had an engagement every evening. At least twice a week someone took her to a theatre or to a dance. One stout gentleman

whom she and Tildy had privately christened ‘The Hog’presented her with a turquoise ring. Another one known as ‘Freshy’, who rode on the Traction Company’s repair wagon, was going to give her a poodle as soon as his brother got the hauling contract in the Ninth

Also upon each table stands the counterfeit of that benign sauce made ‘from the recipe of a nobleman in India.’ At the cashier’s desk sits Bogle, cold, sordid, slow, smouldering, and takes your money. Behind a mountain of toothpicks he makes your change, files your

furious laughter through the blood. Then two nights later he broke out of jail and was seen no more – a youth not yet twenty-one, with something in him from the father who begot and deserted him and who was now in the State Penitentiary for mans laughter – some seed not only violent but dangerous and bad.

‘Yes,’ Stevens said. ‘I have already talked with Mr. Wilmoth at the paper. He had agreed not to print anything. I will telephone the Memphis paper, but it’s probably too late for that… If we could just persuade her to go on back home this afternoon, before the Memphis paper… Out there, where the only white person she ever sees is Mr. Edmonds, and I will telephone him; and even if the

her shoes and the ankles above her shoes. When the hem of her garment touched my face I trembled. When after two years of that life I found she had managed to acquire three other lovers who came regularly to our house when I was away at work, I didn’t want to touch them or her

The sight of a woman sickens me. Why I don’t kill every woman I see I don’t know.” Half frightened and yet fascinated by the light burning in the eyes of the hideous old man, George Willard listened, afire with curiosity. Darkness came

on and he leaned forward trying to see the face of the man who talked.When, in the gathering darkness, he could no longer see the purple, bloated face and the burning eyes, a curious fancy came to him. Wash Williams talked in low even tones that made his words seem the more terrible

For a moment there was a catch in the voice of the man talking in the darkness. “I loved her,” he said. “I don’t claim not to be a fool. I love her yet . There in the dusk in the spring evening I crawled along the black ground to her feet and groveled before her. I kissed

other darkies should hear about it, I’m sure they wouldn’t. And then maybe in about two or three month I could go out there and tell her he is dead and buried somewhere in the North…’ This time she was watching him with such an expression that he ceased talking; she sat there, erect on the hard chair, watching him until he had ceased

Well, he’s in worth trouble than that now. I don’t doubt her at all. I just hope, for her sake as well as that of the great public whom I represent, that his present trouble is very bad and maybe final too-’ ‘Wait,’ the editor said. He didn’t even need to leave his desk.

and stood staring at George Willard. The boy’s body shook as from a chill. Again the man’s voice became soft and low. “She came into the room naked,” he went on. “Her mother did that. While I sat there she was taking the girl’s clothes off, perhaps coaxing her to do it.

He had known her too all his life. She lived alone in the decaying house her father had left her, where she gave lessons in china-painting and, with the help of Hamp Worsham, descendant of one of her father’s slaves, and his wife, raised chickens and vegetables for market.

‘I came about Mollie,’ she said. ‘Mollie Beauchamp. She said that you-‘ He told her while she watched him, erect on the hard chair where the old Negress had sat, the rusty umbrella leaning against her knee. On her lap, beneath her folded hands, lay an old-fashioned beaded reticule almost as big as a suitcase. ‘He is to be executed tonight.’

I was sick of being alone and wanted her back. The longer I waited the more raw and tender I became. I thought that if she came in and just touched me with her hand I would perhaps faint away. I ached to forgive and forget.” Wash Williams stopped

He took the press association flimsy from its spike and handed it to Stevens. It was datelined from Joliet, Illinois, this morning: Mississippi negro, on eve of execution for murder of Chicago policeman, exposes alias by completing census questionnaire. Samuel Worsham Beauchamp-

Mr. Seeders was flushed and embarrassed. He plunged one hand into his hip pocket and the other into a fresh pumpkin pie. ‘Miss Tildy,’ said he, ‘I want to apologize for what I done the other evening’. Tell you the truth, I was pretty well tanked up or I wouldn’t of done it. I

The diners accepted the revelation in various ways – some incredulously, some with congratulations; others turned upon her the stream of badinage that had hitherto been directed at Aileen alone. And Tildy’s heart swelled in the bosom, for she saw at last the towers of Romance rise above the horizon of the grey plain in which she had for so long travelled

But behind the convenient screen Tildy had thrown herself flat upon a table among the butter chips and the coffee cups, and was sobbing her heart out – out and back again to the grey plain wherein travel they with blunt noses hay-coloured hair. From her knot she had torn the red-

hair bow and cast it upon the floor. Seeders she despised utterly; she had but taken his kiss as that of a pioneer and prophetic prince who might have set the clocks going and the pages to running in fairyland. But the kiss had been maudlin and unmeant; the court had not stirred at the false alarm; she must for evermore remain the Sleeping Beauty

At the next regular meal when Tildy set food before customers with whom she had acquaintance she said to each of them modestly, as one whose merit needed no bolstering: ‘A gentleman insulted me to-day in the restaurant. He put his arm around my waist and kissed me.’

wouldn’t do no lady that a-way when I was sober. So I hope, Miss Tildy, you’ll accept my pology, and beleive that I wouldn’t of done it if I’d known that I was doin’ and hadn’t of been drunk.’ With this handsome plea Mr. Seeders backed away, and departed, feeling that reparation had been made

I tell you there is something rotten about them. I was married, sure. My wife was dead before she married me, she was a foul thing come out of a woman more foul. She was a thing sent to make life unbearable to me. I was a fool, do you

the ends of the country, mounted the stairs to the empty office and called his name and cooled their heels a while and then went away and returned and sat again, fuming, Stevens passed from store to store and office to office about the square-merchant and clerk, proprietor and employee, doctor, dentist, lawyer, and barber – with his set and rapid speech: ‘It’s to bring a dead nigger home. It’s for Miss Worsham. Never mind about a paper to sign: just give me a dollar. Or half a dollar then. Or a quarter then

Wash Williams spat forth a succession of vile oaths. “Yes, she is dead,” he agreed. “She is dead as all women are dead. She is a living-dead thing, walking in the sight of men and making the earth foul by her presence.” Staring into the boy’s eyes, the

man became purple with rage. “Don’t have fool notions in your head,” he commanded. “My wife, she is dead; yes, surely. I tell you, all women are dead, my mother, your mother, that tall dark woman who works in the millinery store and with whom I saw you walking about yesterday – all of them, they are all dead

‘No it aint all right,’ the editor said. ‘But it don’t look like I can help myself. By Jupiter,’ he said ‘even if I could help myself, the novelty will be almost worth it. It will be the first time in my life I ever paid money for copy I had already promised beforehand I won’t print.’ ‘Have already promised beforehand you will not print,’ Stevens said. And during the remainder of that hot and now windless afternoon, while officials from the city hall, and justices of the peace and bailiffs come fifteen and twenty miles from.’

see, as you are now, and so I married this woman. I would like to see men a little begin to understand women. They are sent to prevent men making the world worth while. It is a trick in Nature. Ugh! They are creeping, crawling, squirming things, they with their soft hands and blue eyes

I just sent her home to her mother and said nothing. There was nothing to say. I had four hundred dollars in the bank and I gave her that. I didn’t ask her reasons. I didn’t say anything. When she had gone I cried like a silly boy. Pretty soon I had a chance

He shot that policeman in the back. A bad son of a bad father. He admitted, confessed it afterward.’ ‘I know,’ she said. Then he realised that she was not looking at him, not seeing him at least. ‘It’s terrible.’ ‘So is murder terrible,’ Stevens said. ‘It’s better this way.’ Then she was looking at him again

For a moment there was a catch in the voice of the man talking in the darkness. “I loved her,” he said. “I don’t claim not to be a fool. I love her yet . There in the dusk in the spring evening I crawled along the black ground to her feet and groveled before her. I kissed

her shoes and the ankles above her shoes. When the hem of her garment touched my face I trembled. When after two years of that life I found she had managed to acquire three other lovers who came regularly to our house when I was away at work, I didn’t want to touch them or her

‘I telephoned,’ Stevens said. ‘I talked to the Warden at Joliet, and to the District Attorney in Chicago. He had a fair trial, a good lawyer – of that sort. He had money. He was in a business called numbers, that people like him make money in.’ She watched him, erect and motionless. ‘He is a murderer, Miss Worsham.

to sell the house and I sent that money to her.” Wash Williams and George Willard arose from the pile of railroad ties and walked along the tracks towards town. The operator finished his tale quickly, breathlessly

The sight of a woman sickens me. Why I don’t kill every woman I see I don’t know.” Half frightened and yet fascinated by the light burning in the eyes of the hideous old man, George Willard listened, afire with curiosity. Darkness came

other darkies should hear about it, I’m sure they wouldn’t. And then maybe in about two or three month I could go out there and tell her he is dead and buried somewhere in the North…’ This time she was watching him with such an expression that he ceased talking; she sat there, erect on the hard chair, watching him until he had ceased

The papers of that business had passed across the desk before going to the District Attorney five or six years ago – Butch Beauchamp, as the youth had been known during the single year he had spent in and out of the city jail: the old Negress’s daughter child,

orphaned of his mother at birth and deserted by his father, whom the grandmother had taken and raised, or tried to. Because at nineteen he had quit the country and come to town and spent a year in and out of jail for gambling and fighting, to come at last under serious indictment for breaking and entering a store

‘Yes,’ Stevens said. ‘I have already talked with Mr. Wilmoth at the paper. He had agreed not to print anything. I will telephone the Memphis paper, but it’s probably too late for that… If we could just persuade her to go on back home this afternoon, before the Memphis paper… Out there, where the only white person she ever sees is Mr. Edmonds, and I will telephone him; and even if the

on and he leaned forward trying to see the face of the man who talked.When, in the gathering darkness, he could no longer see the purple, bloated face and the burning eyes, a curious fancy came to him. Wash Williams talked in low even tones that made his words seem the more terrible

So take your change and go – to the devil if you like. There you have Bogle’s sentiments. The needs of Bogle’s customers were supplied by two waitresses and a Voice. One of the waitresses was named Aileen She was tall, beautiful, lively, gracious

boiled shirt and tremendously fat. ‘An old nigger woman named Mollie Beauchamp,’ Stevens said. ‘She and her husband live on the Edmond’s place. It’s her grandson. You remember him – Butch Beauchamp, about five or six years ago, who spent a year in town, mostly in jail, until they finally caught him breaking into Rouncewell’s store one night

The Voice at Bogle’s was invisible. It came from the kitchen, and did not shine in the way of originality. It was a heathen Voice, and contented itself with vain repetitions of exclamations emitted by the waitresses concerning food

Will it tire you to be told again that Aileen was beautiful? Had she donned a few hundred dollars’ worth of clothes and joined the Easter parade, and had you seen her, you would have hastened to say so yourself

He rose and took his old fine worn panama and descended the outside stairs and crossed the empty square in the hot suspension of noon’s beginning, to the office of the county newspaper. The editor was in – an older man but with hair less white than Stevens’s, in a black string tie and an old-fashioned

and learned in persiflage. Her other name? There was no more necessity for the other name at Bogle’s than there was for finger-bowls. The name of the other waitress was Tildy. Why do you suggest Matilda? Please listen this name – Tildy – Tildy. Tildy was dumpy, plain-faced, and too anxious to please to please